


Crossfire

by indigo (indigo_angels)



Series: Mission Arc [15]
Category: The A-Team (2010), The A-Team - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-11-08 22:46:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 56,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17989940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indigo_angels/pseuds/indigo
Summary: Straight after Mission 40, the team are headed home for some R&R. However... Face finds himself embroiled in someone else's drama and well and truly caught up in the resulting crossfire.This story dabbles a little in the world of Sci-Fi. You may recognise a few 'borrowed' characters and you may not, but this isn't a cross-over.





	1. Chapter One

_“And we're caught up in the crossfire of Heaven and Hell_

_And we're searching for shelter...”_

 

Brandon Flowers – Crossfire.

 

__________________________

 

The FOB was buzzing, but not as much as Face as he sat in the shaded heat of what passed as an O Club watching Murdock weave steadily through the sweat soaked throngs, triumphantly holding two frosted mugs of alcohol free lager up at shoulder height to try and keep them from being emptied onto the sticky floor.  
  
He passed one to Face as he sat and the two men solemnly held them up and knocked them together before drinking, eyes closed as the cold beer slipped easily down their throats.  
  
"Thanks bud," Face breathed, wiping his beer moustache. "I needed that. And just think, in two days, it'll be real, American beer, with real American alcohol, in a real American bar."  
  
Murdock nodded earnestly and pulled his cap off his head, "In real America too!"  
  
Face just laughed and held his mug up once more, "To the successful completion of mission number forty. What a bitch she was, but thank the Lord for the four weeks' R&R she brought!"  
  
Nodding again, Murdock raised his own mug and they both took three more huge swallows. "You feel bad about being here without the others?" he asked, trailing condensation patterns with his finger.  
  
Face looked up, his eyes wide in incredulity. "You kidding? Hannibal gets paid more than us to go to shit like that. And Bosco should pack up faster. Dunno what he thinks he's doing." He took another long swallow of beer, draining his glass. "It's not our fault we're quick. You want another?" It may have been lacking in alcohol, but after three weeks in the desert it tasted like ambrosia.   
  
He was already poised in his seat, empty mug dripping condensation in front of him, but Murdock shook his head and climbed to his own feet. "I'll get them, I need a leak and I owe you like a million from Germany..." Face grinned a feral grin at the memory and sank back down again, content just to sit and watch the world go by as Murdock slunk off towards the bathroom.   
  
He wasn't alone long though, almost the exact second that the bathroom door swung closed behind his buddy, a man, mid-thirties, plain fatigues, mirrored Aviators, dropped into the seat opposite him. He glanced up, weighing his visitor impartially before bestowing him with an all purpose smile. "Seat's taken. Plenty of room over there," he didn't like the way he was being looked at - like he was a piece of meat.  
  
His visitor however, only smiled and continued to watch him. Face watched back. Minutes passed in silence and finally Face had had enough. "You know what?" he might have been tired and aching, but he could still dredge up another smile. "You can have this table. I'm on leave as of one hour ago and I'm in no mood for this. Me and my buddy will sit somewhere else." He rose to leave but his visitor finally found his voice.  
  
"Your buddy? You mean Captain Murdock?" there was no missing the amusement in his voice. "I think he'll be some time yet."   
  
Face froze halfway out of his seat. "What?" his voice was quiet but undoubtedly dangerous.   
  
"Relax Lieutenant. He might be experiencing some issues with the locks, that's all."  
  
Without breaking eye contact Face lowered himself back into his seat. "Keep talking," he instructed his eyes flashing in anger but his visitor remain unimpressed.  
  
"You want another camel piss beer?"  
  
"No. What the fuck do you want?"  
  
Aviator man laughed. "Why do you think I want something?"  
  
"You pricks always do. So, come on, who are you? CIA? Army Intelligence? CID?"   
  
This just brought another laugh. "CID? You got something to hide?"  
  
"Who hasn't? Now talk or I'm just gonna go and prise that door for Murdock. With your face."  
  
A slight shift in posture was the only reaction Face got to that, but his visitor did eventually lean forward, lowering his voice as he pointed his Aviators in what Face assumed was an attempt to make eye contact. "Tomorrow, you're heading back to the States."  
  
"I know."  
  
His interruption was ignored. "And you'll be taking a package with you."  
  
Now it was Face's turn to laugh. "You, my friend, have obviously never been through basic training. Rule 101; don't carry stuff back home for  _anyone_."  
  
Aviator man didn't move. "Unless it's in the best interest of your home nation."  
  
"And I imagine this is?"  
  
"Absolutely."  
  
"Still no."  
  
Silence fell over the table, until the Aviators were slowly raised revealing an unsettlingly pale set of grey eyes. "Lieutenant Peck... I was hoping we wouldn't have to do it this way..." He reached into the pocket of his utility vest and pulled out a mini disc, sliding it surreptitiously across the table towards Face. "But you,  _my friend_ , obviously never paid attention in basic training either. You ever heard of Don't Ask, Don't Tell?"  
  
Face's stomach clenched but he kept his expression studiously blank, letting his eyes flick to the mini disc and then back.  
  
"And I'm even more surprised that Colonel Smith seems equally unaware." Thin lips quirked into a smile but Face just stared back, the hastily drunk beer suddenly roiling unpleasantly inside him.  
  
"You're bluffing," he offered, impressed at the steady timbre of his voice as he flashed a bored looking smile. "Those rumours about me and Hannibal are old now. You're behind the times on that one, buddy."  
  
His visitor weighed him in silence for a moment before letting rip with an insincere smile of his own. "Not bad. No wonder you've got away with this for so long, I admire your balls." Face raised an eyebrow at him. "But... having seen your balls myself now, and everything else I might add, that little bluff isn't going to work on me." Face kept his gaze steady even though his heart was thumping inside his chest. "The  _showers_? I mean, come on Peck, how clichéd is that??? Though I have to say, your Colonel still has it in him, eh? Not bad for an old man, no wonder you always figured it was worth the risk."  
  
A single photograph joined the disc, and Face forced himself to look down. It was only a small printout, he supposed Aviator man was going for some semblance of subtlety, but the subjects were crystal clear; him and Hannibal in the shower stall the previous night, both naked, faces turned to the camera, eyes closed in bliss as Hannibal held him up, Face's long legs wrapped around his waist, the Colonel's thick cock, deep, deep inside him.  
  
As much as it was impossible to see exactly what was placed where, Face knew damn well it was obvious to everyone who’d see that photograph, precisely what they were doing and in a primal reaction he snatched it off the table and stuffed it deep into his pocket.

 

His stomach roiled some more and he felt physically sick. He knew now that they'd been rumbled and cursed himself for allowing their relief at being back in one piece from the mission to cloud their better sense. The shower block indeed, the prick had a point, but Face had had a close shave, and that always got Hannibal's blood up and the sex was always pretty incredible.   
  
There was no point trying to brazen it out any longer, instead he leant forward, locking eyes with his smirking visitor. "Okay, dickhead," he muttered, "You have my attention." He gestured at the disc still on the table between them, "And now I'd like your master copy of this."  
  
Aviator man nodded. "I thought you would, and I have no use for it, so you're welcome to it," he held Face's stare, "after you take my package home, of course."  
  
Face let out an ironic little huff. "Blackmail?"  
  
"Absolutely."  
  
Holding back a sigh, Face kept his gaze steady. "So, what's so important about this particular package that you need to stake out shower blocks and stare at honest soldiers in the buff?"  
  
"None of your business."  
  
"Bullshit."  
  
There was another long pause, two sets of eyes locked together then Aviator man sighed and sat back in his chair a little. "Okay," he conceded, "come outside."  
  
Face laughed. "With you? You're joking, right?"  
  
There was a sigh, "Outside," he pulled back his jacket to show his side arm. "Now," but Face just laughed again.  
  
"Now I  _know_  you’re joking. You're pulling a piece on me? In here? You have any idea precisely how long you will have to live once you're seen pointing that thing?"  
  
To his disconcertion though, Aviator man just laughed back. "These guys might not be quite as one sided as you might imagine Lieutenant, this  _is_  an important package after all."  
  
Face looked up, his heart thudding in apprehension once more and glanced around the bar, shocked at all the blank, starring eyes looking back at him, not to mention all the mirrored shades. He kicked himself, he and Murdock had been so desperate for a beer that they'd not really looked around much when they'd arrived, just spying an empty table and making for it without thought. But then, he conceded, this was the FOB for God's sake, and if you couldn't relax here, then where the hell could you? Kicking back his seat, he stalked out into the dusty heat.  
  
They didn't walk far, Face was herded into a space between two shipping containers and waited, hands on his hips while a couple of the other bogus Officers positioned themselves casually outside, finally Aviator man turned back and offered him a hand to shake. "Agent Brown, sorry about all the cloak and dagger stuff."  
  
Face ignored the hand. "And the blackmail? Don't give me that, you guys love all this shit - it's why you do the job."  
  
Giving up on the shake, Brown shrugged as if conceding the point then took a step closer to Face. "Alright, down to business, I have a tight schedule here, here's your package." He reached into his pocket and pulled out an object, roughly the shape and size of a tennis ball, wrapped in a piece of tarp, and held it out to Face who steadfastly kept his hands on his hips.   
  
"What is it?" he asked instead.  
  
"You won't believe me if I do tell you," Brown replied evenly, keeping his arm outstretched.  
  
"Try me."  
  
Brown shrugged. "We don't really know," his voice was edging on bored, but Face could detect the faint shades of something else to it, the way he kept glancing down at the harmless looking lump in his hand as if desperate for Face to take it off him. "All we know is that it is alien in origin, has been doing the rounds of the Russian black market and, through the efforts and lives of good agents, has finally made it here and into our possession."  
  
Face still didn't move. "Alien. I presume by that you're meaning E.T.?" Brown nodded. "Right, just checking. So..." he cocked his head slightly, measuring just exactly how nervous Brown was. "Why do you need me? Surely you guys have lots of sneaky little back ways into the country rather than marching straight through an Army base like I'm gonna have to."  
  
Brown smirked. "Well, that's just it, isn't it? Do what they least expect, I'm sure Colonel Smith would understand." Face ignored the implied slur on his intellect, he was used to people assuming he was nothing more than attractive window dressing and was (generally) secure enough in his team's opinion of him to let it go.  
  
"What who least expects?" he asked instead and Brown shrugged.  
  
"The Russians want it back, the Chinese and North Koreans are desperate to get their hands on it, the Iraqis know it's here, take your pick."   
  
Face nodded, considering. "So, I hope you're not expecting me to fight off hoards of Ninja warriors if they come looking for it?"  
  
Brown was looking more and more desperate to be on his way and shoved the package a little closer to Face. "Take it back to the States. I know you have onward plans to Chicago, when you arrive, I'll find you, take it off your hands and give you the memory card from the camera. You don't show, or don't have it when I turn up, then I go straight to the papers with your little sex show, and you'll both be ruined; burned, humiliated, out on the streets with nothing. Think about that."  
  
Face knew that was true, and the thought of it happening to Hannibal was unbearable. He reached out and snatched the package, stuffing it straight into a pocket of his fatigues. "Okay, fine," he spat, knowing when he was beaten. "But you double cross me, or that film gets shown around... then I swear I will come and kill you. Think about that."  
  
Just nodding, Brown took a step backwards, the relief clear in the set of his shoulders. "Nice doing business with you," he deadpanned and turned on his heel, striding off into the afternoon sun and never looking back at Face standing dejectedly in his wake.  
  
_________________________________  
  
He didn't look at the object again, keeping it well hidden, until they were safely back in the US - Fort Lewis this time, the walk through into American soil passing by without incident. Face had wrapped his cargo up in filthy clothes and stuffed it into the bottom of his bag for the trip home, only really allowing himself to think about it after everything he'd possessed had been through the washing system twice.   
  
It was evening now, and he was sat cross legged on the bed wearing only his trunks, wondering if he really did want to know what he'd brought back into the country, or whether it would be best to let the next week pass by in a haze of helpful oblivion. Eventually, natural curiosity got the better of him - that and a desire to know just what he was inflicting on his team mates for their planned road trip to Chicago come the morning.  
  
With a sigh, he reached out and carefully unwrapped the object from its tarp, breath held as the camouflaged material gradually parted to reveal its prize.

 

Alien.

 

He hadn't wanted to pursue it any further with Agent Brown, hadn't wanted to appear in the slightest bit interested, but... alien? Extra terrestrial? Seriously? He'd grown up with the original Star Wars trilogy, Battlestar Gallactica and reruns of Star Trek; if this little thing really was from the stars then it was incredible, and if he was awed, then Murdock would be blown away.

 

For a moment, the desire to share his burden with the team was enormous and he paused, the ball in his hand, ready to take it down stairs and tell all. But then he realised that there was only Hannibal in at present, Hannibal, in his beaten up civvy clothes that Face loved so much and a wave of shame washed over him as he remembered what he’d let happen to them both, what horrors could be inflicted upon the man he loved more than life if this story got out.

 

Hannibal was a legend, and rightly so. Face certainly wasn’t the first soldier he’d rescued from a life of insubordination and failed promise; come to think of if, he wasn’t the last either. The thought that that legend, his love, would be treated like that, laughed at, humiliated, stripped of all that was important to him – well, it was just unfeasible, but it was Face’s lapse in awareness that had opened the door to the possibility.   


He and Hannibal had a well defined and perfectly balanced symbiotic relationship. Hannibal brought out the best in him, there was no question of that, he fired Face up, pointed him in the right direction, gave him the desire to do better, to always do better, and because of that, Face was well on the way to becoming the soldier he’d never even dreamed he could be. But it worked both ways and it had taken Face a long time to see that.

 

Hannibal needed someone to reel him in; he needed the genius of his plans to be made possible, the impossible edges shaved off. He needed someone to watch the jazz in him and gently nudge him when it grew too strong or ran too hot, and then, if the nudge didn’t work he needed someone to grab him by the neck and shake it out of him.

 

Face could be that person, now he’d grown into his skin he was confident enough to do that. Confident enough to look Hannibal in the eye and say no, confident enough to take his lover and hold him down on the bed while he made love to him, confident enough to take on the responsibility for all the little details that Hannibal’s whirlwind of a mind overlooked – details like who might be watching when they gave into their carnal desires in the showers back at the FOB...  

 

That had been Face’s role, he knew. To watch their backs, keep Hannibal safe – that was what the boss expected from him but Face had failed and let his man down in the most terrible way possible. Because of that one lapse in attention, _everything_ that Hannibal was, was now under threat, his entire life hanging by a thread under a cloud of shame and humiliation. Face looked back at the tarp in his hands; he had to make this right, he had to undo the wrong he’d done, and he had to keep the team oblivious while it was sorted out. He could do this, he knew that now. Hannibal had taught him that he was capable of anything he set his mind to so that was what he was going to do. He’d allowed this threat into their lives and he was the one that was going to eliminate it once and for all – without ruining anyone else’s vacation in the process.

    
That decided, he slid the object out of the final layer of tarp and felt its solid coolness land in his hand. The room was warm, it had been a hot day, but the object was almost cold to the touch, like it had come straight out of the fridge, he frowned and turned it over. It was indeed the shape and size of a tennis ball, but there all resemblance stopped. It was a dark blue colour, so dark it was almost black, with a shining silver band around the centre. The band was split in two, a groove running all around the circumference which made Face wonder if it would separate into halves. He gave it a quick, exploratory twist, then let it be, not willing to break whatever the hell it was and risk invalidating his 'deal'.   
  
His eyes fell on the strange etchings almost invisibly scored into the dull blue surface and wondered what they meant, wondered who had made them, if it really was a creature from another planet, or some secret earth bound organisation, setting out to try and rule the world. He turned it over in his hand and his mind; or maybe it was just the CIA jerking his chain, he shook his head, suddenly sick of it and shoved it into his case, forcing his thoughts on to more pleasant topics like his forthcoming vacation.   
  
The plan was to drive over to Chicago, indulging BA's ever increasing hatred of flying to spend a few days altogether with BA's momma. After that they were splitting up for the rest of their leave, Face and Hannibal to California for two weeks on their own, Murdock back to the family ranch in Athens and BA to visit cousins in Boston. Face couldn't wait. He loved BA and Murdock like brothers, but time alone with Hannibal was very precious and very rare. In addition to that, since they were headed to Palm Springs, Face really hoped they'd get the chance to do some 'couple' stuff, instead of just hiding all the time.  
  
A loud, throaty roar interrupted his thoughts and split open the twilight air and smiling, Face slid off the bed and wandered over to the window as BA drew up in their ride for the trip. Murdock was already there, ensconced in the 'shotgun' seat and as Face watched, Hannibal stepped out onto the sidewalk; battered old cargos and wife beater making Face's mouth go dry like it always did. Turning on the spot, he grabbed his own shorts and stepped into them before making for the door.  
  
By the time he got out front, BA had the hood popped and was showing Hannibal the inner workings of his ride, while Murdock, on spying Face, had leapt to his feet, intent on showing off the luxuries inside. 

 

BA had been in charge of choosing the car and had finally gone for a 1969 Pontiac GTO convertible in Crystal Turquoise with aV8 engine offering up 370 hp which could do nought to sixty in five point seven seconds. Face only knew all of this as BA had shown him the brochure and told him about it. Repeatedly. Face looked it over with the uninterested eye of a man who knew he had no business being under the hood of anything with an engine in it and conceded that it was a very nice colour, although the white seats would need some looking after – especially with Murdock on them; even now he was jumping up and down in the rear showing Face how bouncy they were.

 

Watching his friends, Face smiled, despite the cold dread hiding away in the pit of his stomach. It was shaping up to be an awesome trip.  
  
________________________________________  
  
It was barely four in the afternoon and Face was only half way through his stint behind the wheel when he saw the huge billboard advertising the Motel Paradiso, complete with indoor pool. Without checking his change of plans with his buddies, Face just swung off the highway and into the parking lot.  
  
"Hey!" Predictably it was BA who noticed the change first, roused from his doze by the sudden change in direction. "What you doing, man?"  
  
"Change of plan," Face answered drawing up into a space with a pool view. "See, Bosco? Pool!"  
  
BA sat up but simply scowled at Face. "We supposed to be drivin' another two hours before we stop."  
  
Face beamed at him and gestured back to the pool. “But come on... pool!"  
  
Shaking his head, BA hauled himself upright. "We stop now; we have to drive an extra two hours tomorrow. You gonna be up for that, pretty boy?"  
  
Face just shrugged, "Sure."  
  
"C'mon' BA," Murdock was already out of the car. " _Pool!_  When was the last time we were in a pool? I can't even remember!"   
  
The parking brake was on and Face was standing with Murdock at his side, his shades up on his head so that BA could get the full force of his pleading expression. BA sighed and turned to Hannibal who simply unclipped his seatbelt and popped his door. "It does look a particularly nice pool, Corporal," he admitted. "We can make up the extra time no sweat. Come on, we deserve a treat."   
  
____________________________  
  
Two hours later, Face was standing in their tiny motel bathroom, examining his stubble in the mirror and wondering if he could get away with another day before it turned all itchy and beardy. He was fresh from the showers, and after their play in the pool and beer in the bar, about as relaxed as he had been since Brown grabbed him with that package. He adjusted the towel slung around his hips and thought back to the other worldly sphere currently nestled innocently in the corner of his case. They'd be in Chicago in four more days. How long would that prick wait before he came to get it back from Face? Would he even hand over the master copy of those damn photos, video whatever they were? Would Face  _ever_  be able to relax again, knowing that there may be other copies drifting about? Ready to leap up and ruin Hannibal's life at a moment's notice? He didn't think he would.  
  
As if conjured up by Face's thoughts alone, the bathroom door gently swung inwards and Face glanced into the mirror, welcoming smile ready on his lips. It froze, however, before it was even halfway formed as he took in the image that followed the open door into the steam of the room. Hannibal was naked, nothing unusual about that, especially if he was planning on showering, but he was also hard, something he generally left until he was actually in the water - with Face. He also had that  _look_  on his face, the one that made Face swallow.  
  
"Have you been avoiding me, beautiful boy?" he almost growled, standing right up against Face's backside, his heat all too clear through the towel.  
  
Face wondered if he had been. Not intentionally that was for sure but maybe a little, subconsciously... even now the memories of them being watched, filmed, exposed in such a base manner made him feel angry and ashamed, and maybe just a little bit stupid for letting it happen; certainly enough to kill any lecherous thoughts he might have had.   
  
"It's been weeks since you let me anywhere near you..."  
  
Face laughed a little breathlessly at that, hearing the teasing tone in Hannibal's voice even through the lust. "Rubbish," he breathed, closing his eyes at the feel of that rock hard pillar of heat brushing up against him. "It's hardly been days."  
  
" _Three_  days," Hannibal supplied throatily. "Since the showers in the FOB." Face dropped his head as he felt his cheeks full with blood at the reminder. "What are you trying to do to me? Make me crazy for you?"  
  
Hannibal started rubbing himself a little harder against the towel at that and Face thought about it a little.  _Had_  he done that? Not let Hannibal near him? He didn't think so but there again, all he'd been able to think about recently was that damn package and the possible, humiliating end to their careers that was currently residing with the probable-CIA.  
  
"Face?"  
  
Hannibal had stopped rocking against him now, and his voice had taken on an uncertain edge that Face didn't like - what was there to be certain of in this life if not each other? "Don't be crazy," he said instead, dropping his head a little in a way that he knew tilted his ass out, "Why would I do that? I know you're always crazy for me..."  
  
Laughing, Hannibal started his rocking again and Face looked down, watching in wonder through the split in the towel as his cock filled more with every gentle roll.

 

“Can we?” Hannibal whispered in his ear, his breath making the hairs stand up on Face’s neck and Face frowned a little.

 

“You have to ask?”

 

Again Hannibal stilled his rolling, but this time his chin came to rest on Face’s shoulder and his hand gently tugged the towel away, letting it fall to the floor. Face swallowed as a warm and slick hand found his awakening cock and slowly started stroking it, encouraging it to fill even faster. “I don’t know, kid...” and there was that edge of uncertainty again. “Ever since we left you’ve been a little... odd. A little distant, you know?”

 

Face had to try hard not to sigh; why was it that he could never get one over on Hannibal? “I’ve just been a little worn down,” he decided to try for another branch of misdirection. “It was a tough op.”

 

Hannibal’s hand didn’t stop, but Face could almost hear the gears of his mind whirring away. “You said you were okay,” his voice was soft in Face’s ear.

 

“I was! I am...” Face was finding the lies harder to come by the harder his cock became. “I’m just ready for a vacation,” he offered and wriggled his naked ass back into Hannibal’s heat. “And I’m ready for _you_ as well, Colonel...”

 

The shudder and the swiftening strokes of Hannibal’s hand told Face that his very deliberate use of rank had hit right where it was supposed to; it was no shock to him when a slick finger started probing his entrance. “You are?” and the worry had been replaced by breathless lust  - result. “You ready for me to fuck you up against this sink?”

 

Face’s knees turned to jelly at that and his eyes slid shut. Hannibal hated the word ‘fuck’ when it was used to describe their lovemaking, but he also knew that Face found it intensely erotic and loved dirty talk, the dirtier the better in fact. That he was doing it now gave Face the slightest twinge of guilt as it meant that Hannibal was still worried about him, was prepared to step out of his own comfort zone to give Face what he needed. The guilt didn’t last long though, not when Hannibal slid a finger deep inside him and whispered, “What do you want, baby boy? My big cock inside you?” Face nodded mutely, his words stolen by lust. “One hand around your cock?” said hand squeezed and Face moaned in reply. “And what about my other hand?” came the voice in his ear. “You want me to play with your nipples? Make them stand up tall and beg for me? Or your balls? Squeeze them a little, make sure you don’t come too soon?”

 

Face was breathing hard now, his eyes still shut tight, his brain melting at Hannibal’s words, the three fingers that were now inside him. “Yes...” he breathed and Hannibal chuckled.

 

“Which one?” he asked, fingers sliding out, broad cock head pressing into place. “Or maybe you want me to hold your wrists so you can’t move while I jack you off, hard and fast?” He was pushing in now, the channel tight and hot due to their position and for a moment neither one of them could speak; Face dropped his head, white knuckled hands gripping the sink tightly as Hannibal slowly, relentlessly filled him.

 

“Or maybe,” Hannibal was right up inside him now, his voice tight and strained. “I should use my hand to gag you? Then fuck you so hard you want to scream, but you can’t and you can’t beg me to stop.” Face never would do that, never had, could always take anything that Hannibal gave him, but to be held by the man he trusted and loved, fucked hard, made to come, all his options taken away from him... the burst of pre-come from the end of his dick was all the answer Hannibal needed.

 

In a second their positions changed ever so slightly, Hannibal edged forward, trapping Face up against the sink, his huge hand slid up, smelling of slick and musk and efficiently covered Face’s mouth and then, with any other warning, the pounding began.

 

The first thrust almost lifted Face off his feet and, had he not had Hannibal’s palm tight  across his mouth, he would have cried out in that curious mix of pleasure and pain. The next thrusts were less desperate, but still deep and swift and Face found himself hanging onto the sink even more tightly in order to keep his feet. Every stroke pounded his prostate on the way in, just a little too hard to have him coming straight away and just because he could, he started to beg Hannibal to stop. Of course the words didn’t come out, the hand over his mouth was too tight and it wasn’t as if Face even meant them, but being held like that, taken so hard, begging all the while for it to stop was glorious.

 

He sometimes wondered if there was something wrong with him, this need he had to be dominated. But then, he always reasoned, it wasn’t like he had made a lifelong habit of it, it was something he’d only ever trusted Hannibal with; with everyone else he’d been with in his life he’d always fought hard to keep as much control as he possibly could. It had rarely worked of course; until he met the boss the theme of his sexual encounters had tended to border on forced prostitution and he’d never had anything even vaguely similar to a mutually beneficial relationship. But of course all that had changed when he met Hannibal; like so much else about Face, Hannibal just seemed to understand what he needed in bed – he never judged, he never made Face feel uncomfortable, he just did it, whatever it was, with care and love, and it always made Face’s heart swell.

 

Face opened his eyes and looked up, his precum surging forth in reaction yet again as his foggy eyes focussed on the image in the mirror. Hannibal was so beautiful like this, all muscle and lean lines, all his strength and power and height being used to hold Face still, keep him quiet while he pounded into his ass. That huge hand clamped over Face’s mouth, just restricting his breathing enough to add to the building high, his own blue eyes boring into Face’s in the glass, the message in them loud and perfectly clear.

 

I love you. You are mine. I will love you forever.

 

Tear sprang up in Face’s eyes and he let them slide closed as his orgasm started to build. Forcing back the smug glee he had seen in Brown’s eyes when he knew he had Face trapped, and instead concentrating on that cock inside him, the hand working his own length so expertly and the words of love and encouragement that Hannibal was now whispering in his ear.

 

He let everything else go, held that image of them both in the mirror in his head, concentrated on the feel of everything around him and that combination had Face coming hard within another minute.     

 

Hannibal, as ever, was right behind him; the tight contractions of Face’s spasming body far too delicious to resist. He jerked harder into all that heat, his hands almost painfully tight across Face’s mouth and around his cock, and Face was sure he could feel three days of semen surging up inside his body. As fast as it had claimed them, the storm retreated once more, and Face was left holding himself up on shaking arms while Hannibal, still deep within him, slid his hands away and wrapped them around his twitching abs instead. “Alright?” he asked breathlessly and again there was that note of worry there that Face hated.

 

“Perfect.” He risked taking one hand off the sink to hold onto Hannibal’s firm thigh instead. “You make me feel incredible.”

 

Hannibal laughed a delicious warm chuckle. “You are incredible. I love you so much.”

 

Face knew he was loved, just as Hannibal did too, but they didn’t say it often, a habit that had protected them from discovery and was too important  to break. It needed recognising though, even if it meant that Face had to lose that oh so comforting heat that still joined them together. He twitched his hips forward, just enough that Hannibal’s cock slipped out of him, what felt like a gallon of come following and sliding unheeded down his leg. He turned around and placed his hands on that rugged face that he still dreamt of when they were apart and smiled. “I love you too,” he whispered. “So much. Always will.”

 

They kissed at that, slow and languorous, then pulled apart, foreheads together, Face’s fingers now stroking through Hannibal’s hair. 

 

“And you’re okay?”

 

Face closed his eyes. “I’m fine.”

 

“You’d tell me if there was a problem?”

 

He closed them a little tighter. “I’d tell you if I needed any help with anything,” he couldn’t lie to Hannibal, not like this.

 

There was silence in the little bathroom. “You’re asking me to trust your judgement on this _thing_? Whatever it is...”

 

Taking a breath, Face opened his eyes and held Hannibal’s with his own. “I am, John.”

 

The silence expanded.

 

“Okay then,” a tight smile accompanied Hannibal’s submission. “But you’re not alone, kid. You know that?”

 

Face smiled back, but his was a lot more natural. “I know that. I always know that.”

 

Hannibal nodded and pressed a quick kiss to Face’s forehead. “We’re meeting the others at seven, you better get ready.” He stepped towards the shower and after only a moment’s hesitation, Face followed him.   
  
________________________________________  
  


They were on the road before it was properly light. Face, who really thought that early mornings on vacation were a sin, wisely chose not to complain, just slumped into the back seats with his coffee and closed his eyes.  
  
One, four hour stint later, and they were finally pulling off the road for breakfast although Face was unsure what had caused the let up in Operation Make Up Time, Murdock's constant whining or BA's stomach - Face was sure he'd heard it himself, even over the roar of the traffic. It was a decent enough diner they stopped at though, with a fruit bar huge enough to make Face glad they'd waited and not eaten at the Motel diner where grease seemed to be the theme of the day.   
  
He'd just been to the restroom with Hannibal and they were heading back to the parking lot to meet the others when a commotion caught their attention. Sharing a glance they jogged over to where Murdock and BA were standing leaning on the wing of the Pontiac with their arms folded in almost identical postures that had Face smiling.  
  
"What's going on?" Hannibal asked, nodding at the woman standing at the rear of a car, currently alternating between crying and yelling at the member of staff from the diner standing with her.   
  
"Car's been turned over," BA reported darkly. "Punks took everythin' from the trunk. Lady’s movin' states, it was all she had."  
  
Three sets of eyes turned in sympathy to the woman as a police car rolled quietly into the lot, but Face was already moving. "From the trunk?" he asked, the fear clear in his voice. "You checked our car? They been in our car, Bosco?"  
  
"Yeah, man they been in our car," BA leaned away from the wing. "That's why I'm standing here watching that woman, 'cause we been turned over too. What do you think, Face?"  
  
But Face wasn't listening, he'd already popped the trunk and found his case, checking the locks he had on it with only barely contained panic.  
  
"Whatya doin' bud?" Murdock asked him sidling up to the rear of the car. "Whatya got in there?"  
  
"Nothing!" Face turned on the spot, putting his back between Murdock and the trunk. "Nothing at all, just checking you know? Making sure everything was okay." They held each other's eyes.  
  
"Told you it was, man..." BA grumbled as he moved around to the shot gun seat. "You got your paranoid head on, Face."  
  
"Yeah," Face forced a laugh out as he slammed the trunk although the hand he ran through his hair was shaking. "Guess so."  
  
He climbed into the back once more, closing his eyes as soon as he was settled, feeling Hannibal sliding in next to him and the strong hand that curved gently around his knee. He didn't open his eyes, but he knew Hannibal was watching him, right up until he fell asleep.  
  
______________________________________  
  
By the time they stopped for lunch, Face had come up with a plan. Leaving the ball in the trunk of the car was too risky - he didn't think that prick Brown would look too sympathetically on him if he let some low life scum steal it. He waited until they were in the parking lot, parked in the shade of a bull pine, then he yawned and glanced over at BA.   
  
"You know guys," he yawned again for good measure. "I think I'm gonna skip food, I need some more sleep."  
  
BA nodded easily as Face knew he would, after all, it wasn't unheard of for him to skip meals, but Hannibal wasn't so easily conned; he waited until Murdock and BA had started sauntering across the lot before leaning over the door of the car, eyes on Face who was studiously trying to look tired in the back seats. "What's going on, kid?" he asked quietly and Face let his eyes flick open in mock innocence.  
  
"What?" he blinked. "Nothing, boss, just thought I needed a bit more sleep that's all. I'm driving next you know."  
  
"You've _'slept'_ all morning." Face noticed the emphasis on that one word and tried not to cringe.   
  
"Yeah," he pulled out his best lewd grin, "but what can you expect when you keep me up all night?" It was a desperate attempt, he knew that, he knew they'd both been asleep by midnight, just hoped that Hannibal would decide to let it go.  
  
It must have been his lucky day - Hannibal only nodded and straightened up. "Whatever," he answered in a tone of voice that told Face he was far from fooled. "You want a coffee bringing back?"  
  
"Yeah," Face beamed at him, "That would be great. Thanks Hannibal."  
  
For a second, Hannibal just looked at him, considering, but then he nodded, and with his long, easy strides, followed the others into the diner.  
  
Face let out a long breath of relief, he knew that he hadn't fooled Hannibal at all, the boss knew him far too well to think he was tired, the best he could hope for was that Face was skipping meals to lose a few pounds; it was a common enough habit anyway, just not one he usually needed to use straight after a hard deployment...   
  
He forced himself to wait, counting down five minutes in his head before he moved, casually sliding out of the car and stretching, before heading around to the back and popping the trunk. He knew exactly where he had stashed his treasure that very morning, trying to keep it from Hannibal's eyes as he got dressed behind him, and within in a minute he'd unlocked his case, slipped his hand in and felt the familiar coolness in his fingers. He left the tarp behind, knew it would be too bulky for his pocket like that, and in a perfect study of casualness, wrapped it tightly in his fingers and, deliberately looking away, slid it into his pocket.  
  
The relief was instantaneous, his initial distaste of having the thing anywhere near him had vanished the second he'd seen that poor woman sobbing over the empty space in her trunk. Taking a minute to lock up his case once more, and the car, he acknowledged the growling of his stomach and headed for the diner.  
  
Murdock was the first to see him, waving madly around his mouthful of spaghetti as Face wandered over to them, sliding comfortably into his space at Hannibal's side.  
  
"Not 'tired' anymore, kid?"  
  
Face just shot him a grin and picked up the menu off the Formica top. "What's good then guys?" he asked keen to turn the attention away from his delayed arrival.  
  
"Steak," BA provided around a mouthful and Face nodded, smiling up at the waitress as she sashayed up to him.  
  
"What can I get for you, sweetie?" she asked around a mouthful of gum.   
  
Face beamed up at her. "Surf 'n' turf, please. And a coke free."  
  
"No problem, sugar. How'd you want your steak?"  
  
"Incinerated," Murdock supplied, while Face nodded and the waitress winked at him before making her way back across to the kitchen.   
  
"So," Face forced his body into a good replica of relaxed, even though all he could feel was the cool, steady presence of the object against his thigh. "My turn to drive next? Where're we stopping tonight?"  
  
Hannibal shifted against him and took another bite of burger while BA continued to attack his steak with the ferocity of a starving man, only Murdock looked his way. He cocked his head while chewing through another mouthful of pasta. "Whatya got in the trunk then, Face?"  
  
Frowning, Face poked at the cutlery on his table, he should have known better than to think he'd fool any of these men who knew him so well. "It's private," he settled for instead, hoping that would be enough, but while Hannibal only threw him a quick glance, Murdock set down his fork and leaned back in his seat.  
  
"Private?" he asked frowning. "What kind of private?"  
  
"Private, private, fool!" BA interjected. "Leave the man alone, you don't need to know everything about him."  
  
"Yes, I do," Murdock pouted. "He's my mind twin, we share everything."  
  
Face laughed, sensing an opportunity. "Everything? You been taking my hair wax again then, buddy? You any idea how much that costs?"  
  
"How much?" Again this was BA, "You the only man I know who spends more on bathroom shit than food. It aint right."  
  
"You think I should smell?" Face jumped on the distraction with relish.  
  
"You do smell," BA grinned at him. "Of flowers and old lady talcum powder. Like my granny, man."  
  
Hannibal laughed at that as he pushed his finished plate to one side. "That the effect you been aiming for then, Face? Old lady smell?"  
  
"I never hear you complaining," Face shot back.   
  
"He likes old ladies," Murdock added, back to attacking his pasta. "More his age."  
  
BA laughed while Face tried to hide it behind his hand. "Careful, Captain," Hannibal mock growled, "Just because we're on leave doesn't mean I can't assign you to latrine duties."  
  
"Yeah?" Murdock offered up a lazy grin, "Well, Face'll save me with whatever he's hidin' in the trunk of the car."  
  
Face had to try and stifle a groan, but fortunately his dinner chose that moment to arrive and the subject was dropped - for the minute.   
  
The rest of the meal passed in uneventful chatter, Face fed harmless topic after harmless topic into the conversation, hoping to keep talk away from the contents of the trunk and it worked, by the time they'd all finished and Hannibal had polished off two helpings of apple pie they were moving onto their agenda once they reached Chicago.  
  
"It’s up to you guys," BA told them, shrugging. "I sure as hell aint bothered, done it all before anyhow."  
  
"The zoo then! Both zoos!" Murdock’s eyes were shining brightly. "I'd love to go to a zoo!"  
  
BA wrinkled his nose. "The zoo? Man, that's for kids..."  
  
"No, it's not! It's for anyone who wants to go! It's very educational you know. I went to the zoo in Central Park just last year and learned lots."  
  
"That's 'cause you was a fool to start with," BA muttered, but his eyes betrayed his amusement. "No one more than sixteen ever goes to a zoo. Not unless they're taking kids."  
  
"Pah!" Murdock folded his arms. "That's a load of rubbish. What about you, bossman, when's the last time you went to a zoo?"  
  
Hannibal looked a little reluctant to be drawn into the conversation but gamely cast his eyes upwards as he thought back. "Sorry, Murdock," he eventually conceded. "I think it was about eleventh grade - biology field trip."  
  
"Huh," turning away from his disappointment, Murdock fixed his hopeful eyes on Face. "What about you? I bet you're more fun than Colonel and Corporal Sourpuss here."  
  
Face had been looking out across the diner, his forehead set in a deep frown and now he turned back to the rest of the table, pretending he had no idea what they'd been discussing. "What?" he asked blandly.  
  
"Zoos! When was the last time you went to the zoo, Faceman? Bet it was real soon? Yeah?"  
  
Face shrugged. "Never been that bothered by zoos," he answered vaguely.  
  
Murdock, however, was not to be dissuaded. "Yeah, but you went anyway, right? To a zoo? Any zoo? Recently?"  
  
Taking a deep breath, Face bit the bullet. "Never been to a zoo," he offered breezily.  
  
The silence could have been sliced by a knife it was that thick and Face let out a long sigh. He hated this, hated these moments when he knew that his team were all sharing that  _look_  with each other, all pitying him his poor, tragic childhood. Truth was he wasn't bothered, his childhood was what it was, it had been happy enough and to him it was normal - _that_  was normal. He didn't need or want their pity. Hannibal's hand slid onto his knee and squeezed and somehow that just made everything worse.  
  
"Well, that's sorted then." Was that a  _catch_  in Murdock's voice? Face hoped to hell it wasn't. "If Face has never been to the zoo, then we go to the zoo!"  
  
Face waited for BA to object, or for Hannibal to say that surely it should be up to Face to decide that - or even Murdock to ask him if it was okay, but they all stayed silent, and even without looking he knew that they were all sharing that  _look_  again. He took a deep breath, "Guys," but he could feel his temper bubbling up anyway. "I told you, I've never been bothered by zoos, coulda gone to loads if I'd wanted to, don't make all the plans around me."  
  
"Don't be crazy, Face." Face cringed - Murdock definitely had his sympathetic voice on. "You're only saying that 'cause you've never been to a zoo. I promise you, you'll love it. You just don't know what you're missing!"

  
"Really?" the pity that Face was sure he could hear in his friend's voice finally snapped his temper. "And you guys do? You know all about all the stuff I missed out on just 'cause I was a poor little sad orphan and you guys had all the luck and all the family stuff?" Everyone froze, their eyes guarded but more than a little shocked, fixed on him. "Well, do you know what? Maybe I had it best after all. No one to tie me down, no one to tell me what to do all the time," he stared right at Murdock, "No one to presume they know what's best for me 'cause I'm too disadvantaged to know any better." Murdock's face fell and, as a wave of guilt reared up inside him, Face got to his feet, knocking Hannibal's hand off his knee as he did. "I'm going to the bathroom. See you back at the car," and he stalked off, leaving nothing but silence and loaded expressions in his wake.  
  
The restroom was blessedly empty after he'd kicked the door open, muttering under his breath. He glanced at the mirrors and saw his reflection, anger written all over him, but eyes shining in tears and retreated to a stall, locking himself in in case any of his team followed him. Once safely cocooned on his own he leant on the faded grey walls and closed his eyes, concentrating on getting his temper back where it should be.  
  
He knew that no one meant him any harm; he knew that they were trying to be kind to him, but it just got him so mad when they all assumed he'd led the life of Little Orphan Annie. The truth was, he  _didn't_  know any better, he'd never lived with a family for any length of time so orphanage life was all he knew and in truth, he  _had_  been happy. Living in the orphanage was like having fifty brothers and sisters; he'd had the most epic water fights, pillow fights, games of hide and seek. There was always someone to play with, someone to talk with, there were so many adults involved in his life he could easily play them off against each other to get what he wanted. And so many stories, so much experience he could learn from; his love of languages, his taste for travel and adventure, his knowledge of the world outside of LA and America - all of that had come from the people who shaped him as a child.  
  
So what if he'd not had doting parents coming to watch his first football game? His third grade Christmas play? Someone had come, Father David had seen almost all his games and he was sure that Sister Catherine covered Nativities... how could you miss parents when you'd never known them?  
  
It was his teenage years when it had all gone wrong for him, when the thought of soon being alone in the world had made him rebel against everything and everyone. But again it was Father David who led him through it, who always understood, no matter how many times he was called out to the Precinct. Would a parent be  _that_  understanding? Turn a blind eye to him joining the army too early just because they knew it was what was needed? He doubted it.  
  
As his breathing slowed he heard the restroom door open and close and froze, waiting to see who had followed him. Footsteps entered the stall next to his and an unfamiliar cough put him at ease as he thought over the end of his tirade in the diner. His remark about families had been uncalled for, he realised. Murdock had lost his mom at five, BA his dad at twelve - he knew he didn't have the monopoly on tragic families. He sighed and let his chin drop to his chest. He needed to apologise, they'd just pressed his buttons and he'd over reacted; story of his life.  
  
He used the toilet and let himself out, checking a much calmer reflection in the glass as he washed his hands. It was then that he felt it, buzzing coldly against his thigh and he glanced down to where he'd hidden the object, wondering if he should take it out of his pocket, wondering if his wet hands would damage it, wondering why the hell Agent Brown hadn't told him it  _did_  things.  
  
Then the buzz turned into a pulse, just the one, silent but strong enough that Face felt it reverberate right through his body. Then it was still once more, the buzzing had stopped, there were no more pulses, and, giving a mental shrug, Face went out to find his team.  
  
Back in the restroom there was a thud from the second cubicle as Malcolm James' dead body slid into the gap between the toilet and the cubicle wall. He'd only gone to quickly relieve himself as he and his wife continued their trip to visit the grandchildren and had almost finished his business when he'd felt a pain unlike any other sear through his entire body at once. It hadn't lasted long, just a second and it was gone and he was dead, still sitting on the pan, but slowly, slowly, sliding sideways until he fell.  
  
_____________________   
  
Everyone was quiet and on their best behaviour as they continued the trip east. Face had tried to apologise first but Murdock had beaten him to it, almost throwing himself at his friend the second that Face rounded the big rig that had parked next to the Pontiac. But he'd got his chance eventually and Hannibal had hugged him close, kissed his temple and then slid into the shot gun seat, his hand on Face's thigh as they'd set off, slipping easily into a clean and sober game of 'Would you Rather?'  
  
The hours passed quickly, and before they knew it, they'd reached Bozeman, Montana and pulled in for the night.  
  
It had been hot and dusty on the road and they retired to their respective rooms for a shower (and a blow job in Face and Hannibal's case) before they wandered down the street and met up again in a bar they'd seen from the road.   
  
"You guys ordered?" Face asked, skimming the menu and already sick of steak and burgers.   
  
"Nope," Murdock nodded at a poster on the wall. "It's Cajun night, lady at the bar said there's a coupla chickens left if we want? With fries and salad?"  
  
Face closed his menu and shrugged. "Fine by me," it certainly beat more cow products in his opinion.  
  
Hannibal joined them at that point, two beers in his hands and a frown on his forehead. "Cajun?" Murdock asked waving at the poster again and Hannibal barely even glanced at it.

 

"Sure, whatever you boys want." Murdock nodded and was out of his seat in a flash.  
  
"What's up Hannibal?" BA asked, leaning over the table a little and stealing the words right from Face's lips.  
  
"Just seen the news report on the TV," he answered nodding at the flat screen on the far wall. "You know that diner we were in at lunch? In Missoula?" they both nodded. "Seems some old guy was found dead in the restroom. Must have been just after we left."  
  
Face and BA exchanged a quick glance and both frowned at the news. "Man," BA shook his head. "That sucks... What happened?"  
  
Hannibal shook his head. "They didn't say, but the waitress, you know the one who kept flirting with Face,” a large hand fell on Face's thigh. "Well, she's just been interviewed and said people are thinking he had a heart attack or something."  
  
For a moment the mood was sober and Face found his mind tracking back to whoever had come into the stall next door to him, but then Murdock arrived with a plate of chicken wings and they all fell on the food, tragic news from Missoula swiftly forgotten.  
  
_______________________  
  
Captain Steve DaSilva only had two more years until retirement, nineteen months to be precise, but it was days like this when he wondered if he'd ever make it. He was already three hours late in leaving for home, his wife had called and told him his dinner was on the back porch for the racoons, his stomach ulcer was complaining loudly at the chips he’d fed it that afternoon and his haemorrhoids were throbbing so hard it was almost impossible to sit still and listen to what he was being told.

 

He slid his reading glasses off and rubbed the bridge of his nose, “So, please McArdle, tell me that whole thing one more time.”

 

Detective Jim McArdle had been with DaSilva long enough to know how to tread around the man’s temper; he’d also seen the industrial sized tub of Pepcid Complete lurking under his boss’ desk so he took a deep breath and tapped the photo currently laid on top of the pile of chip and candy wrappers. “Malcolm James, sixty five, from Wentachee, Washington. Married to June, three kids, Mal Jnr.,-”

 

“Alright, alright, I don’t want his life history, I want to know why you think our nice, easy, heart attack in the john is something more sinister.”

 

McArdle held in his sigh of annoyance and instead reached down to the cluttered table top to pull out a printed sheet. “Preliminary report from the morgue,” he stated, holding it out for DaSilva to see. “Stating that every organ in James’ body appears to have been _denaturalised_.” DaSilva raised an eyebrow inviting further explanation and McArdle obliged. “It’s what happens to an egg when it’s boiled. The heat forces the protein strings to reform which they do, making a rubber-like substance.”

 

DaSilva blinked at him. “You saying someone _hard boiled_ our boy?”

 

“No. But I am saying that _something_ caused every organ in his body to coagulate, like clotting blood.”

 

There was silence in the little room as DaSilva pondered that fact. “Okay, right... Well I never heard of that before so go on then, what kind of thing can do this?”

 

McArdle shifted a little awkwardly. “Well, that’s just it, Chief,” he said quietly. “The doc said it’s impossible.”

 

“Impossible?” DaSilva winced as his ulcer flared and he reached for another Pepcid. “How can it be impossible? We got the proof right here!” he tapped the photo of Malcolm James’ body. “Get a second opinion.”

 

“I will do,” in fact, McArdle had already set that ball rolling well before coming in to deliver the bad news to his boss. “And I’ve scanned through the CCTV from the restroom as well.”

 

DaSilva’s eyes rolled even as he swallowed a handful of tablets. “They have cameras in the restrooms now? Is that even _legal_?”

 

“You can only see the sinks,” McArdle opened his laptop and turned it to face his boss. “Only one other guy was in there the same time as James.” DaSilva nodded and leaned forward as McArdle played the recording.

 

It was black and white and pretty poor quality, but the two men could quite clearly see a tall, lean but well muscled guy dash into the restroom, quickly glance in the mirror and then disappear into a stall. DaSilva chuckled, “Must have been caught short,” he muttered.

 

Time passed and the restroom remained empty, until the door swung inwards again, and this time an older gentleman wearing a polo and loose slacks came into view. He paused and glanced in the direction of the urinals, but then went into the only other stall instead, and again the camera shot was empty.

 

Another minute passed and the first guy came out again, standing at the sink and staring into the mirror as he washed his hands. He paused for a minute, glanced down at his thigh, but then shook his hands dry and headed for the exit without a single glance in Malcolm James’ direction. McArdle stopped the playback. “That’s it,” he said, “that’s all that happens. Twenty minutes later one of the cleaners from the diner goes in to see where he is ‘cause his wife is panicking and that’s that.”

 

DaSilva leant back in his seat and rubbed a finger carefully around his mouth as he thought. “So – we got an i.d. on the other guy then?”

 

McArdle shook his head. “Waitress said he was with three other guys, came in a little later than them, visited the restroom just before he left, that’s it.”

 

“That’s all?”

 

“Err...” McArdle looked at his notes. “That and he ordered Surf ‘n’ Turf and a Coke Free. Oh. And he was cute.”

 

There was a pause. “Excuse me?”

 

“You asked what else the waitress said and that was the last thing. He was cute.”

 

“Great. Very helpful, McArdle. What were they driving?”

 

McArdle frowned. “No idea. The waitress didn’t know, the CCTV couldn’t pick them up because there was a big rig in the way of the camera.”

 

“You found the driver of the big rig?”

 

“Yeah. He was asleep the whole time.”

 

DaSilva let out a long sigh and leaned forward to rest his head in his hands, grimacing as the move aggravated his piles. “Right, well, keep me informed then. And make sure you get a second opinion on the hard boiling. I don’t need an unsolved murder hanging over me just before I retire.”

 

McArdle paused in collecting up his pictures and reports. “You think this guy was _murdered_?”

 

DaSilva just looked at him. “How many hard boiled men have you come across so far in your career then Jimmy boy? Is it a regular thing down in Kansas?”

 

There was no answer to that as McArdle, arms full of evidence, flicked off an awkward salute and left, leaving DaSilva alone in his office thinking how he’d never be able to eat another hardboiled egg in his life ever again.

 

_________________________

 

“Hey, guys?” Murdock’s voice came up clear from the back seats even above the wind and the throaty engine. “You fancy a detour to see the old Smith Mansion?”

 

BA’s eyes flicked to meet his in the rear view mirror. “Detour? How much of a detour?”

 

“Don’t stress big guy, it’s only a coupla hours. And you did promise we could sight-see on the way. We’ve not stopped for anything other than food and sleep yet!”

 

BA frowned but didn’t reply as Hannibal reached over from the shotgun seat to take the map off Murdock. “Are we that close?” he asked. “I had no idea.”

 

“Relatives of yours, boss?” Face was lounging in the back, his feet on Murdock’s knees, insolent grin on his face.

 

“Very funny, kid. What do you think, BA? We’ve plenty of time. Where’re we stopping tonight? Dickinson? We’ll still easy make that.”

 

BA shrugged, “Sure, as long as we aint late gettin’ in to Chicago it’s all good with me.”    

 

“The Smith Mansion it is then!” Hannibal announced to whoops of joy from Murdock and a dry, “Yippee,” from Face.

 

The Smith Mansion was the life’s work of one Francis Lee Smith whose dream was to build a cabin that would fit in with surrounding Wapiti Valley countryside. The Smith Mansion, as it came to be known, all seventy five feet of it, was the culmination of that dream.

 

“He died buildin’ it you know,” Murdock reported as the four of them stood staring up at the huge wooden structure. “Fell. Was always tryin’ to make it better.”

 

“It’s incredible,” Hannibal breathed, clearly in awe.

 

“Yeah...” BA agreed. “He do it on his own?”

 

“Mostly,” Murdock glanced at the leaflet in his hand. “His daughter’s tryin’ to get the money together to finish it now. Seems a shame to let it rot.”

 

“A crime,” Hannibal agreed. “What you think, Face?”

 

A long sigh was his first answer, followed by a tired sounding, “Are they allowed to call it a mansion if it doesn’t have a pool?” Nobody replied to that, so caught up in the crazy architecture and Face decided he’d head back to the little rest stop where they’d parked the car and buy a soda from the ridiculously over priced shop. He might even buy Murdock a Crazy House t-shirt if he was lucky as well.

 

He wandered back along the highway, mind as empty as the skies above when the sounds of screeching brakes pulled him back to the there and now. As he watched, a car that had been travelling towards him jerked to a stop and the young female driver scrambled out, her thick, black hair so long it almost reached the hem of her equally short skirt. “I told you Wyatt!” she yelled as she slammed the door shut. “You go get drunk on your wages before I see them and I sure as hell aint drivin’ you home!” Turning her back on the car, she set off stomping along the edge of the highway, the speed she was managing truly a feat in her ridiculously high heels. 

 

As Face watched, the passenger door opened and Wyatt stumbled out, staggering to his feet and shouting, “Kaylee!” in a voice with a distinct slur to it.

 

Kaylee ignored him, even when she inevitably stumbled a little in her heels she kept on walking, arms crossed in front of her chest, ass swaying as wildly as her hair.

 

“Angel baby!” Wyatt crooned and set off after her, staggering from left to right as he tried to catch up.

 

Face turned away from him and smiled, finding the whole scene fairly amusing as he thanked his lucky stars that he was out of the confusing world of dating women from now on in. His thoughts turned back to sodas and whether they would have any diet grape when he heard Kaylee scream behind him. He whirled on the spot and saw her and Wyatt struggling madly together as Wyatt tried to drag her to the car.

 

“Hey!” he shouted and started walking back towards them, his long strides quickly eating up the ground. “Hey! Buddy! You want to take your hands off her?”

 

The struggling lovers ignored him and he frowned as Wyatt grabbed a handful of hair and jerked it back, making Kaylee yelp in pain.

 

“Right, tough guy,” Face interjected. “That’s enough of that!” He pushed at Wyatt’s chest and grabbed the offending hand, jamming it flush to Kaylee’s head to ease the pain.

 

“What the hell?” Wyatt slurred, seeming to notice Face for the first time. “What’s your problem, man?”

 

“You are,” Face was forcing his thumb into the shell of Wyatt’s hand, attempting to crack it open. “Why don’t you just leave the nice lady alone?”

 

Wyatt looked apoplectic. “Why don’t _you_...” he started, but in the absence of any witty remark coming to mind, swung a drunken fist Face’s way instead.

 

It wasn’t hard to duck it, a three year old probably could have managed and Face threw a lazy punch of his own in retaliation, knowing that it wouldn’t take much to put Wyatt down. He was right, the punch barely connected and the guy was sprawled on the ground, eyes blinking madly up at the blue, blue sky.

 

“Right, asshole,” Face started, stepping over him. “I think it’s time you learnt how to act around ladies. If you ask me-”

 

He never got chance to finish his advice, however, as one hundred pounds of irate female suddenly landed on his back.

 

“Leave him alone!” Kaylee’s voice was shrill in Face’s ear. “Don’t you touch my baby, you bastard!”

 

It took Face a moment to catch up, the legs kicking his thighs and the fist pummelling his head helped but it still took him a couple of minutes before he could peel his assailant away, swinging her around and depositing her on her high heels at Wyatt’s side.

 

“Oh, baby!” Kaylee instantly started tugging her lover to his feet, “Are you okay? You want me to hold him while you beat him up?” The situation, never mind the comment, was so unbelievable, that Face almost laughed at that. But Wyatt obviously knew exactly who would beat up who in any prolonged confrontation with Face and instead he staggered to his feet, clinging to Kaylee and tugging her back towards the car.

 

“It’s okay, Angel,” he muttered. “We’ll leave him be, I just wanna go home.”

 

Kaylee nodded understandingly and together they staggered to the car, scrambling in and leaving Face standing staring after them in a cloud of dust. “Yeah!” he yelled as they screamed away from him. “You’re fucking welcome!” and he shook his head, triply glad he was done with the confusing world of women.

 

He turned back to the rest stop, all thoughts of sodas and t-shirts gone now, replaced by the desire to sit in silence in the back of the car and steam in anger at stupid Wyatt and even more stupid Kaylee but he groaned inside at the sight of the camper van, a kind of Mystery Machine with no windows, that was currently parked next to the Pontiac, rocking crazily in response to all the shrieking and giggling that was coming from inside it.

 

Face ignored it and jumped into the back, laying down and folding an arm over his eyes as he thought back over his run in with Wyatt and Kaylee, feeling every single bruise she gave him as they announced themselves to him. He was bubbling with anger, wishing he’d hit Wyatt a damn sight harder and hoping that someone would come out of the van so he could take some of his anger out on them.

 

He knew Hannibal would not approve, however, so he took some deep breaths and tried to ignore the shrieking from next door. It wasn’t easy, however, and he was just about to see if he had some keys so he could move when he felt the familiar cold buzzing against his leg. He glanced around; the Pontiac was sheltered by a row of trees and the van so he carefully pulled to orb out to look at it. It appeared just as it had before, didn’t even seem to be moving and then, so fast that Face almost missed it, the two halves popped apart a couple of millimetres, that strange _pulse_ emanated from within it, and then it was all quiet again.

 

He turned it over in his fingers, wondering again just what the hell Brown had got him into, and then shrugged as he shoved it back in his pocket. He doubted the others could be much longer – how long could you stare at a haphazard stack of planks for anyway? But he settled back down in the seat and folded his arm over his eyes intending on trying to get a bit of sleep.

 

It was very peaceful in the lot now, only the occasional car rolling past to interrupt the sounds of the birds. The kids in the van next door had mercifully decided to shut up, and with a sigh of relief, Face drifted into sleep.     

 

__________________________

 

It was a six hour drive to Dickinson, and Face was pleased that Murdock wisely chose to hide his disappointment at the fact that the dinosaur museum was closed when they finally rolled in; he doubted that BA’s stretched patience would have coped with that particular drama.

 

“Find out what time it opens,” Face told him quietly as they walked across the lot to their motel. “It’s a seven hour drive into Missouri, if you think we’ll have time I’ll go with you before we set off.”

 

Murdock visibly brightened at that, “Thanks Face!” he shot a surreptitious glance at BA. “You still think he’ll let us stop at all those giant animals as well though if we do that?”

 

Face knew that Murdock had been looking forward to seeing the huge fibreglass buffalo and cow that stood near the highway, but he also knew that the nearer they got to Chicago the more desperate BA seemed to get there. “I don’t know...” he admitted truthfully. “Maybe...” he caught Murdock’s eye, “if he gets a good sleep, you know?”

 

Flushing, Murdock couldn’t stop the smile that blossomed over his face. “Aw, man... Last night was _not_ my fault! You get the urge to play your harmonica, you get the urge to play your harmonica – what can I say?”

 

Face had reached the room he was due to share with Hannibal and just laughed, raising a hand in farewell. The truth of the matter was that Murdock couldn’t serenade BA tonight, not with harmonica medleys anyway – not after the big guy had driven the Pontiac over it, repeatedly, that morning...

 

He tapped lightly on the door and Hannibal let him in. As soon as the door closed behind him they shared a brief kiss and then Face pulled back at what he’d thought was a snort of amusement that Hannibal just couldn’t hold in. “What?” Face asked him, brow furrowed. “I miss something?”    

 

“Sorry, kid,” Hannibal turned his back, supposedly to take his t-shirt off but Face strongly suspected that he was trying to hide his laughter. “I just keep thinking of you storming in there like a knight in shining armour – and then the damsel in distress turning on you like that!”

 

Face sighed and slumped onto the bed, staring at the silent TV; he should have known better than to tell the truth about the red marks on the side of his face, surely his quick mind could have come up with something to garner some sympathy rather than make him the laughing stock he’d been all afternoon. The corner of his phone jabbed sharply into a particularly tender bruise on his hip and he scowled, yanking it out of his pocket and dumping it on the bed. “She was no damsel in distress,” he grumbled as Hannibal stripped for his shower. “She was a grade A bitch.”

 

Hannibal laughed again. “I’m sorry kid,” he repeated, mouth still quirking traitorously. “I just wish I’d been there.”

 

Face stared at the commercials on the news channel and smiled flatly. He was glad Hannibal hadn’t been there, apart from the humiliation aspect, Hannibal had never been able to stand by and watch Face getting hurt, damsel in distress or not. If the boss had been there, the scene might have been a whole lot uglier than it actually was. “Hmm,” he agreed eyes drifting over the screen. “Me too.”

 

The shower switched on, not quite drowning out Hannibal’s throaty chuckle. “Come into the shower baby,” he growled, “I’ll rub your bruises better.”

 

Face’s dick twitched in his shorts at the thought, but his mind was captured by a very familiar looking parking lot that suddenly filled the screen. “Yeah – in a minute,” he answered as he flicked off the mute button. 

 

“-and Steven Wisinski, also seventeen. Cause of death has not been released but speculation is rife concerning the similarities between another death, yesterday lunchtime in Missoula, Montana. Malcolm James, sixty five, from Wentachee, Washington was found dead in the washroom of Janet’s Diner on Interstate 90. At first it was thought he’d suffered a heart attack, but this morning Montana Police Department announced that they are now treating his death as suspicious. Like today’s five victims, Mr. James’ body was unmarked but it appeared that-”

 

Face snapped the sound off with a vicious stab of his finger and sat, heart thudding heavily, as he stared, dumbstruck, at the pictures still dancing across the screen. That was the camper van that had been parked next to him. There was the space that the Pontiac had occupied, now full of police men and the SOCOs in white suits.

 

For a moment, he was confused, his mind searching for a reason for this most horrific of coincidences, but then there was an awful, inevitable, lurch of realisation. He thought back to the rest room in Missoula and that parking space near the Smith Mansion; his thoughts then drifted to the two surges of power he’d felt and the alien orb that still nestled in his pocket. And now the six people who’d been near him at the time of those surges were dead – killed in mysterious circumstances. Coincidence? No.

 

He jumped to his feet, heart pounding and palms clammy. It was the orb. That god-damned cock sucking bastard Brown had stiffed him, had given him a ticking time bomb to carry around in his pocket. This orb was a killer, an indiscriminate, vicious murderer, and Face was the one blithely taking it round, from victim to victim; no wonder the prick had been so keen to get rid of it.

 

He yanked it from his pocket and stared at it, fresh revulsion pulsing through him with each beat of his heart. That bastard. He’d make him pay as soon as he could get his hands around that smug, fucking neck. But for now, he had more pressing concerns. He had to get rid of the damn thing and quick. Maybe they should drive straight to Chicago? Brown would surely know when they arrived – he couldn’t possibly risk Face wandering around in such a built up area with a killing machine in his pocket, he would come and get it back as soon as they rolled into town. Hopefully. Maybe he could come up with a good enough excuse to get them moving? BA probably wouldn’t take much convincing but he wasn’t so sure about the others...

 

From the bathroom, over the top of the water, came the sounds of deep, tuneless singing and another thought slammed into him, unleashing a fear so cold and sharp within him that Face almost threw up.

 

Hannibal.

 

His fist tightened on the orb and his eyes flicked to the window, tempted to throw the damn thing out now, far , far away where it couldn’t hurt any of his family. But he didn’t, he knew that wouldn’t solve anything. He still needed the cursed thing to try and clear the threat of exposure from Hannibal’s head, but even worse than that was the further risk to others. Because of him and Brown and this damn piece of alien technology, six families had already lost loved ones; if that’s what he did, who knew how many others might die?

 

He looked at the closed door of the en-suite, the longing to go in there and unload everything onto Hannibal almost  over powering him, but then the panic was back in his chest – how long did he have before the orb went off again? Was it on a timer? Was it totally random? Was it programmed to seek out various victims? Who knew? He certainly didn’t. How long did he have? Even now he was just standing here waiting and prevaricating and at any second it could surge up and kill the most important person in Face’s life, kill Murdock and BA next door, kill a whole damn motel full of people!

 

He couldn’t let that happen; more to the point he _wouldn’t_ let that happen. Without another thought he turned and bolted for the door.

 

_______________________________

 

“Well, well, well...” DaSilva said as he stared at the grainy image on McArdle’s laptop. “If it’s not Mr. Cute from Missoula. Where’d you say this CCTV came from?”

 

“Rest stop just down the road from the Smith Mansion. The same one those kids were killed at this afternoon. I got it from the cops over there.”

 

DaSilva stared at a frozen image of Face as he stalked back towards the Pontiac. “That his ride?” McArdle nodded. “Okay. I don’t believe in coincidences. Let’s get an APB out on him and the car. And you’d better get back on the horn to Wyoming, let them know we have a suspect.”

 

“Will do, Chief,” McArdle threw a lazy salute and disappeared out of the room, not bothering to share the news that he’d already done both of those things already.


	2. Chapter 2

The water was running cold and Hannibal’s hands were all wrinkled before he finally gave up on Face coming to join him in the shower. He quickly and efficiently dispatched his waiting hard on and then switched off the tap, fully expecting to see his lieutenant stretched out across the bed, fully clothed and fast asleep, when he wandered back into the bedroom in a towel. The room was empty though and Hannibal frowned. “Face?” he called out into the silence, confusion warring with concern at the back of his mind.

 

Another thought struck him and he walked over to the bedside phone, lifting it up and dialling the room next door. “Hey, BA,” he greeted. “Face in there with you?”

 

“Face?” Hannibal could hear the news channel playing in the background and Murdock’s voice chipping in. “No. Murdock says he went to your room. Where are you, man?”

 

“That’s where I am,” Hannibal answered, that edge of worry getting a little sharper. “He’s been here, but he’s not here now.”

 

“You seen the news?” BA asked and the trepidation in his voice made Hannibal’s heart thud painfully in his chest.

 

“No,” even as he spoke, Hannibal turned to the silent TV in the corner of the room and saw the very same rest stop in Wyoming that they had been to that afternoon. The very same camper van that they’d parked next to. He watched in silence, tuning out whatever it was that BA was telling him as he watched the footage of the white shrouded stretchers being carried away from the scene. With a start he remembered the guy who’d died in the bathroom in Missoula and with a mounting feeling of dread suddenly found himself wishing he’d insisted that Face share with him whatever it was that had had the kid so spooked lately.

 

____________________________

 

“But why would he leave without saying anything? Where would he go?” It was about the fiftieth time Murdock had asked those questions in the last half an hour, but no one in the room was any closer to being able to give him an answer.

 

“I don’t know... How did he seem, Murdock? When you walked over here?” Hannibal’s brow was creased in concern.

 

“Just the same! He said he’d go to the dinosaur museum with me in the morning before we left – why would he say that if he was going to vanish on us?”

 

“Maybe he’s gone to the museum? Check opening hours?” BA was lounging in the chair at the side of his bed, feet on the duvet, eyes on the silent television set.

 

“No...” Hannibal’s eyes drifted back to the same scenes they kept on replaying – the five stretchers being carried away from the Camper in Wyoming. For a second they all stared at the pictures, five lives cut tragically short, five families lives changed forever.

 

“He had nothing to do with that.” Murdock’s voice, as quiet as it was, still carried perfectly in the silent room.

 

Hannibal’s eyes jerked up and rested on his Captain. “I know that,” he replied steadily. “But I think _that_ had something to do with Face.”

 

“You reckon he saw somethin’?”

 

Without meaning to, Hannibal looked back at the screen. “I don’t know... I just... Something’s not right. _Face_ hasn’t been right.”

 

“He aint been right since we left Iraq...” BA’s voice had Hannibal looking around again but any further conversation on the subject was cut short by the sound of feet running along the walkway outside the rooms. For a second, Hannibal’s heart soared, thinking that it was Face, but then he realised that it was the sound of more than one set of feet. Much more than one set of feet. Everyone froze, listening intently as the footsteps passed their door and then stopped. There was a moment of silence before an ear splitting crash and cries of, “Police! Raise your hands in the air!” split the night.

 

BA was instantly on his feet, but Hannibal held him back with one palm while he stood, listening to the shouts and commotion coming from his room next door. It obviously didn’t take them long to realise that Face wasn’t there; within a minute the feet started thundering back the way that they’d come, not all of them though, and just as Hannibal was moving towards the door, he froze again at the sound of a loud rap.

 

“Dickinson PD!” came the obligatory shout. “Open up, please!”

 

All along the corridor, Hannibal could hear the same shouts echoing up and down and with a resigned glance at his team mates, he reached out for the door handle.

 

_______________________________

 

“Chief?”

 

DaSilva opened his eyes and blinked around the foggy blur which was all he could see. Had  he fallen asleep at his desk again? He swore he wasn’t going to do that anymore, his wife would kill him. He sat up, wiping the drool from his chin and winced as the movement crushed his painful haemorrhoids. 

 

“Wha’?” it was far too late for anything more valuable than that.

 

McArdle was in front of him, almost bouncing like an eager puppy and DaSilva thought that it should be illegal to be so awake in the middle of the night. “I’ve got a name, sir! For the boiled egg murders! I’ve found our suspect!”

 

Wondering vaguely when he missed this current case being labelled, ‘the boiled egg murders’ DaSilva pushed himself upright. “And?”

 

“First Lieutenant Templeton Arthur Peck, United States Army, 75th Ranger Regiment.”

 

Reaching for his Pepcids, DaSilva changed his mind and snagged his Tucks instead, wondering how long it would be before McArdle let him sneak off to the rest room again. “Army boy, huh? Figures. And how’d you find that out?” 

 

“I ran his picture through the face recognition software and it picked him out. Talked to Benning, seems he’s on leave. Left Fort Worth three days ago to drive to Chicago.”

 

DaSilva paused in levering himself out of his seat and looked McArdle. He didn’t even know that they _had_ face recognition software... It was definitely time for him to retire. “Well, that’s our boy,” he answered grimacing as he stood. “You’d better get on the horn to Wyoming.”

 

“Already have.” For the first time, DaSilva noticed that McArdle was wearing a jacket and carrying a holdall. “They think they’ve traced him to a motel in Dickinson, North Dakota. Local cops are moving in right now. I’m just on my way over.”

 

“You are now, are you?” DaSilva barked and McArdle had the good grace to look a little flushed.

 

“Well... with your permission I am, chief...” he offered and DaSilva sighed, only interested in getting to the bathroom and putting some more of the cooling heaven on his rear.

 

“Yeah, whatever,” he groused. “Just don’t show us up.” And with that he was gone, McArdle just a step behind him as he rushed to pick up a cab to the airport for his four hour trip to Dickinson.

 

__________________________________  

 

Hannibal sat at the top of the motel’s iron fire escape, watching the scenes in the parking lot with what he hoped was an air of detachment. He certainly wasn’t the only sightseer out that early morning; despite the fact that the dawn was only just starting to haul itself across the sky, there were another half dozen motel residents milling around, watching the comings and goings with interest. The first fear that these people were here for Face, knew who he was, thought they knew what he’d done – that had faded when Hannibal had opened Murdock’s motel room door to the fresh faced Dickinson patrol officer. He’d simply nodded, apologised for disturbing them all and asked if they knew the identity or whereabouts of the man in the next door room. A few smooth lies later and the patrol man was thanking them and moving on his way.

 

Hannibal had closed the door and turned to face his two stunned team mates, BA’s mutter of, “What the fuck has he got himself into this time?” not doing much to ease his nerves.

 

“We have to find him,” he’d announced and Murdock had nodded in fervent agreement. “Before they do.”

 

They’d swiftly agreed that Murdock and BA would go out and sweep search, while Hannibal would remain behind, both to wait it out in case Face returned, as well as to monitor the police activity, see if anything could be gleaned from that. It seemed, however, that they had all completely lucked out. No news from his boys was most certainly bad news, and it had become increasingly apparent over the course of the night that the Dickinson PD were just about as clueless in all of this as he himself was.

 

They were packing up to move off now, Hannibal could see that with the way that they were starting to climb back into their cruisers, obviously deciding that they’d hit upon a dead end. He was cautiously relieved; it didn’t get him any closer to finding Face, but it did provide a little more room to manoeuvre and try to find out what the hell was going on.  

 

As he watched, two of the cruisers drove off the lot and away, but then in their wake a cab pulled in and Hannibal edged forward so he could see a little better. Despite his common sense telling him to keep calm, his heart started pounding frantically hoping against hope that it would be Face’s long legs that climbed out of the back. It wasn’t of course, it was a guy in dark jeans and a dark jacket, hauling a black holdall out of the back of the taxi. 

 

He was tall, fairly slight in build and, as Hannibal watched him pay the driver, he knew that this man was here because of Face and the deaths that had so far followed them across state. He drew hard on his cigar, kicking it back to life, and watched as the tall man stalked across the lot and up to the nearest cruiser.

 

He managed to instantly identify the Patrol sergeant and the two had a quick conversation which ended with the shaking of hands and the two of them turning back towards the steps where Hannibal had spent most of the night. The sergeant, Hannibal already knew, was called Travers and he signalled for a couple of officers to join them as he and the tall man headed back across the lot.

 

There didn’t appear to be much in the way of conversation going on. The little party climbed the stairs in silence and Hannibal shuffled to the side to try and keep out of their way, watching as the tall man’s eyes were drawn to the entrance of what was to be Face and Hannibal’s room, police tape and a guard now taking the place of the broken door.

 

As they appeared alongside however, the tall man’s eyes flicked down to Hannibal and he did what could only be described as a comedy double take. He stopped, causing one of the officers to stumble into his back and stared at Hannibal who looked back, eyes cool and empty and then he held out his hand.

 

“Colonel Smith,” there was audible surprise in his voice. “Good to meet you sir. Detective Jim McArdle, Missoula Police Department.” Hannibal slowly extended his own hand in reply. “Perhaps you and I could have a chat? Maybe answer a few questions about the whereabouts of Lieutenant Peck?”

 

______________________

 

 

Hannibal sighed and folded his arms as he looked McArdle straight in the eye. “Detective,” his voice was steady and calm but it hid the mounting anger and worry inside him. “It doesn’t matter how many times you ask me that question, my answer will always be the same. I have no idea where Lieutenant Peck is.”

 

McArdle nodded. “And so will mine. I don’t believe you.”

 

This time Hannibal smiled. “Am I under arrest here?” he asked pleasantly.

 

“No.”

 

“Well, in that case, I’ll be leaving.”

 

Hannibal had insisted that the chat that McArdle wanted with him be held at the motel. The last thing he wanted to do was to vanish from where BA and Murdock, not to mention Face, expected him to be. McArdle had agreed and they had commandeered the admin office, but now Hannibal’s time had run out. He’d been asked variations of the same question over and over again, all of his own questions had remained unanswered and now he was fed up, it was late morning, Face had been gone over eighteen hours, it was time he went out to search for him himself.

 

He rose out of his seat and McArdle matched him, knuckles on the table as he kept Hannibal’s eye. “I apologise,” he said quietly and Hannibal froze, staring at him as the moment stretched out in silence. “I apologise,” McArdle finally repeated. “I was wrong in my assessment of your answers. Obviously.”

 

Hannibal stared at him. “You want me to stay, you’re going to have to do better than that. I want some answers of my own.”

 

McArdle slowly nodded and lowered himself back into his seat, leaning back and waiting until the colonel followed suit. For a second they both watched each other carefully until Hannibal spoke again. “How did those people die?” he asked quietly.

 

Frowning, McArdle let out a long breath. “This is confidential,” he answered slowly. “You repeat it and I will deny it, understand?” Hannibal nodded. “No one knows. Something _cooked_ their internal organs. All of them. Seems that death was instantaneous.”

 

Hannibal leaned forward, “What the hell kind of weapon can do that?” he breathed.

 

McArdle shook his head. “No idea.”

 

“So why do you think it was Face?”

 

“Lieutenant Peck?” again Hannibal nodded. “We don’t. There’s no warrant out for him, but he was picked up on CCTV at the scene of both homicides so I’m sure you can understand why we need to talk to him.” He paused before asking carefully, “ _Do_ you know where he is?”

 

Hannibal shot him a glare. “No.”

 

McArdle tried again. “Well, when did you last see him then?” and Hannibal sat back in his seat, breath coming out of him in one long, sigh.

 

 “About eighteen thirty yesterday. He was in our motel room when I went in the shower, he was gone when I came out.”

 

There was a pause as McArdle thought about that. “He say anything?” he asked.

 

“Nope.”

 

“What was he doing before he went?”

 

“Watching TV.”

 

“Watching what?”

 

Hannibal’s gut lurched as he thought back to that, Face had been watching the news channel... Hannibal himself had put it on and it had still been playing when he’d come out of the shower. “No idea,” he answered calmly and McArdle nodded.

 

“You didn’t think that was odd then? Him disappearing on you like that? Does he make a habit of it?”

 

“No,” Hannibal answered cautiously. “But then he is a grown man. I’m his friend, not his keeper, he can do what he wants.”

 

“Where would he go then? If he were in trouble. Friends, family?”

 

Again Hannibal was very cautious. “As I’m sure you already know, Face has no family.”

 

“Friends?”

 

“Like all of us who spend our lives defending our country, his friends are his fellow Rangers.”

 

McArdle frowned. “Okay... Well - does he have a mobile phone?”

 

“Of course.” Calling Face had been the first thing Hannibal had done before dashing next door to confer with his team. He’d been more than a little disappointed when it had rang out on the bed behind him. “But he didn’t take it with him.”

 

McArdle frowned and glanced at the printed list of what the Dickinson PD had taken from Face’s room. “Where is it then? It wasn’t in the motel room.”

 

“In my pocket.”

 

That brought a laugh from the detective before he held out his hand. “May I pass it on to the tech boys, see if there’s anything on it we can use?”

 

Hannibal paused. Face respected his own privacy and handing over the phone felt like a violation of that. But he knew that saying no would just make him look like he was hiding something, and he knew that Face kept his phone clean, no intimate messages, certainly no photographs, so he reluctantly pulled it out and pushed it towards McArdle.

 

“Thank you, and I think that makes us about done except for one other thing...” for the first time since he’d seen Hannibal that morning he looked a little nervous and Hannibal wondered how much of this kind of thing he actually _did_. “I hope you don’t mind, Colonel Smith, if I ask you this but...” he swallowed. “It seems that you, out of everyone else, probably know Lieutenant Peck the best, am I right? I mean, according to your files, he’s been with you a long time.”

 

“Sixteen years,” Hannibal supplied.

 

“So – what do you think then? Off the record. Do _you_ think he killed those people.”

 

Hannibal was far from naive enough to think that such a thing as ‘off the record’ existed for McArdle, even if the voice recorder _hadn’t_ been blinking green at him, but the question was easy anyway. “I’ve seen Face kill a lot of people,” he said quietly and for a moment he registered the excited glee flit over McArdle’s face. “But only people he’d been ordered to kill and I can guarantee that he hated every single death,” the glee vanished. “No, in answer to your question. You’re right, I do know Face better than any living soul does and he absolutely _did not_ kill those people.”

 

“Not even if he was ordered to?”

 

“He gets his orders from me.”

 

McArdle laughed. “Only you?”

 

“Absolutely. In a world when a moment’s hesitation could get you killed, or worse, you know your role and you know your rank. Face is the best; he’d die before he’d do anything like that. Always.”

 

Silence fell in the tiny office and while McArdle’s blank expression took those words in, Hannibal felt his heart thudding in his chest. _Was_ Face being manipulated into these killings? No – he knew what he’d said to McArdle was true, Face would never do that, no matter what the threat. Unless... he didn’t know what he was doing... unless he was being used. And what would he do when he found out? Well, that was easy - he’d stop. No matter what he had to do, no matter what the cost to himself, he would stop – even if it meant his own death.

 

They _had_ to find him.

 

________________________________

 

 

If the Dickinson PD had been having thoughts about calling off the search for Face, then McArdle had obviously made them reconsider. The various patrol cars had all sped off in different directions, leaving McArdle to commandeer one to use as his own mobile office. Hannibal had watched him from his metal step as the morning crawled onwards, could see his flashes of insecurity when he thought he was unobserved, knew that this case was about much more than finding a missing man and working out what happened to those poor people, it was about his own career and what he could gain for himself for wrapping the whole thing up.

 

Murdock and BA were still out, calling in from time to time, but still moving on, searching everywhere they could think of for Face. Hannibal suspected that BA would keep them out until they couldn’t see straight any more. He would know, just like Hannibal did, that Murdock would cope so much better with all of this if he were out _doing_ something instead of just waiting. Like Hannibal was.

 

He could tell the second that it started though, his heart was thudding in his chest and he straightened up a little, watching McArdle’s body language as he spoke on the radio, watching as he glanced at his watch then up and down the road outside before finally climbing out of the cruiser. The radio was still at his mouth when he looked over at Hannibal and caught his eye, signalling for him to come down before turning his back and continuing the conversation.

 

Rising slowly to his feet, Hannibal took a deep breath before walking slowly down the rest of the steps. He knew that whatever he was about to hear would change everything, he just hoped it wasn’t the worst news imaginable... McArdle caught his eye again just as he signed off on the radio and then turned, the guarded look in his eyes not filling Hannibal with any hope. They looked at each other, McArdle took a deep breath and then, “There’s been three more deaths...” his voice was quiet, shocked even and Hannibal knew there was more.

 

“And?”

 

“Four hikers were checking out a cave over near the county line when they heard shouting behind them. They saw a man sprinting towards them, Lieutenant Peck it appears, yelling and waving his hands. They were worried so they went further into the cave. Peck arrived at the entrance, yelling at them to get out, threatened he’d kill them if they didn’t. Well, they didn’t – and three of them dropped down dead.”

 

Hannibal frowned, “Same as before?”

 

“Appears so.”           

 

“And Face?” his heart was pounding so hard – he was sure he didn’t really want to hear the answer to this.

 

“Fled the scene. There were units up there pretty quick,” Hannibal braced himself, “so he headed up onto a rocky outcrop, he’s there now, says anyone who comes closer to him will die.”

 

Hannibal swallowed. “Where?”

 

McArdle glanced at his notes, “Just east of Heart Butte Reservoir.”

 

Hannibal’s sigh of relief slipped out from between pursed lips, but then something struck him. “Hang on, you said that _three_ of the hikers are dead?” A nod. “So what about the fourth?”

 

“Perfectly healthy. A little shook up after seeing three of his friends killed, but our first witness.”

 

“And what did he see? Did Face _do_ something?”

 

“He says not. Says that he was yelling at them to go away, waving his arms, swearing, telling them they were idiots, the whole works and then his buddies just keeled over.”

 

Hannibal nodded and stored that fact away for later consideration. “Are you going there now?”

 

McArdle nodded. “They’re sending me a driver.”

 

“I’m coming.”

 

A dry smile met his words. “I thought you might be.”  

 

_____________________________

 

No one spoke in the cruiser on the drive down. Hannibal sent a text off to BA saying they had a lead and to meet him at Heart Butte and Murdock answered with an affirmative and an ETA of about an hour.

 

When they arrived at the point where the road had been closed off, however, Hannibal’s heart sank at the circus that met them. Already there were three news vans there and a chopper circling around overhead. Hannibal turned to McArdle, “Has his name and picture been released to the press?” he asked quietly and McArdle shook his head.

 

“No. Not yet. We didn’t want him to know we were looking for him.”

 

Hannibal nodded; well that was one small mercy in this whole pile of shit.

 

It was another ten minute’s drive over rough terrain before they pulled up alongside another five emergency vehicles. Hannibal saw McArdle looking them over, his eyes drifting to the collection of uniformed men standing around, some with guns trained on a distant ledge. Just as he turned away, intent getting out of the car and looking for Face, he saw McArdle’s expression drop and he realised that the detective had just seen the incident commander and knew that his chance for a coup had long gone.

 

Hannibal had no time for such petty police politics however, he was out of the car and following the sights of the marksmen, right up to the small, dark figure huddled next to a huge rock at the top of a bluff. He strode up to the nearest patrolman, standing with a pair of binoculars around his neck and held out a large hand. “Can I use those, son?” he asked, not even tearing his eyes away from that lone figure to look at who he was addressing.

 

It didn’t matter anyway. The patrolman had no idea who Hannibal was, but the way he asked, quietly and with the total belief that he’d be obeyed, didn’t encourage any dissent. He took them with a quick thanks and walked as far forward as he could before turning them up and adjusting the focus. It took a few moments, but when he had them fine-tuned he had to suck in a breath as the reality of the situation hit him straight in the gut.

 

It _was_ Face.

 

He was surprised yet had expected it, was relieved and still gutted. In the back of his mind he’d always harboured the hope that this whole nightmare was simply a dreadful mistake, and Face would turn up at any moment, completely unconcerned at the panic he’d caused and wondering who the guy on the cliff was. But that was nothing but an idle fantasy now. Hannibal took another step in, right up against the police tape, feeling the pull to Face as if they were connected by a solid rope.

 

His boy, the love of his life, was about seventy metres back and then half that distance again above them all, sitting on an exposed outcrop of stone, his back pushed tight to the rock face as he tried to keep warm. He was wearing nothing but the trousers and t-shirt that Hannibal had last seen him in and he looked cold, tense and dejected. He was scowling over at the circling chopper, keeping his head down so that they wouldn’t be able to make out his features but then he seemed to startle, and, as Hannibal watched, his head turned slowly around until he was staring right down the lenses of the binoculars. Hannibal stood, his heart pounding, his mouth dry, until Face looked away again, laying his head down on his knees and looking at the ground.

 

Footsteps were approaching and Hannibal lowered the binoculars, blinking the moisture from his eyes before turning to see McArdle.

 

“That him?” McArdle asked and Hannibal just nodded despondently.

 

“So, what happens now then?”

 

McArdle sighed. “Well... seems like Captain Wozniak over there is the super-hot-shot in charge, but he won’t do anything until they have a negotiator in to try and talk to Peck. Apparently the lieutenant won’t let anyone near him, threatens to kill them or to jump himself if they even try.”

 

Hannibal frowned at that. Face jump? Inconceivable. “I want to talk with him. Get me up there, he’ll talk to me.”

 

He’d expected McArdle to light up like a Christmas tree at those words, but instead the other man just sighed. “Already suggested that,” he admitted. “But Wozniak only seems to like ideas that’re his own,” the bitterness was impossible to miss.

 

Hannibal shook his head. “So, where the fuck is this negotiator then?”

 

“Coming in from Bismarck. Should be here in another twenty minutes.”

 

Eyes narrowed, Hannibal reluctantly tore his gaze from Face’s ledge. “I’ll give him fifteen,” he growled.  

 

____________________________

 

The negotiator actually turned up in less than fifteen minutes, but she’d been hustled into climbing gear at the base of the cliff before Hannibal had even known she was there. He stood with McArdle, watching in silence as she scrambled onto the platform of the fire truck that had rumbled unsteadily to the base of the bluff then held on tight as it slowly rose into the grey sky.

 

Face got to his feet as the platform, with negotiator and fire fighter operator, swung closer and Hannibal could hear his voice calling out to them. His actual words, however, were eaten by the wind before they made it down to his ears and he bit back a wave of frustration.

 

It was a tense ten minutes. Face appeared to be getting more and more agitated as the seconds ticked on and ended up shuffling to the edge of the outcrop, his entire stance an obvious threat to jump. Hannibal longed to call out to him, to stop him, try and make him see sense, but he didn’t dare, not wanting to startle him when he was in such a precarious position. Eventually though, the negotiator signalled to the operator and they started to drop once more, Face retreating further from the edge with each metre they pulled back. As soon as the platform was secured, Hannibal was on the move, heading to the assembled senior officers, needing to know what had been said.

 

He got a good look at the negotiator as she shook her long hair out of her helmet, she was young, maybe late twenties, and pretty, definitely the type Face liked to flirt with, but he doubted there’d be much of that going on today.

 

“He’s a nutter,” the fire officer exclaimed, the second they were in hearing distance from Captain Wozniak. “Threatened to kill us if we didn’t go!”

 

“Yeah, that’s all he’s said all day, murdering bastard...” muttered one of the gathered cops.

 

There was a murmur of agreement to the brusque assessment of Face and Hannibal felt himself bristle at the insult – and the assumption.

 

Wozniak frowned and exchanged glances with his second in command before opening his mouth to speak, but the negotiator, adjusting the straps of her harness, beat him to it. “No, he didn’t,” she offered, her voice clear. “That’s not what he said at all.”

 

There was a pause and all eyes turned back to the fire fighter who looked far from happy. “Yes he did!” he maintained. “He said if we didn’t go he’d kill us – or jump. Wish he would fucking jump, then we could all go home.”

 

A few laughs greeted his comments but the negotiator ignored them, fixing her eyes on the commander. “He said if we didn’t get back, then we’d die – just like the others. He certainly didn’t say he’d kill us.”

 

“Not much difference there...” someone grumbled.

 

“It’s a hell of a difference,” the negotiator shot back and the man fell silent. “He seemed genuinely concerned, sir,” she added, turning her attention back to Wozniak, “and very distressed. I have a real concern that he’ll jump.”

 

Hannibal’s stomach clenched once more but Wozniak didn’t answer, just glanced at the officer next to him, a Captain Harris, as Harris muttered, “I’d be concerned as well, if I’d murdered nine people...”

 

“He’s asked to speak to an Agent Brown, CIA,” the negotiator continued. “Says he’s the only one he’ll talk to.”

 

Wozniak frowned at that, “Agent Brown? Sounds like a ringer to me but whatever,” he turned to the nearest uniformed patrolman. “Hey, Peterson – get in touch with the CIA. Tell them we have Lieutenant Peck here wanting to talk with an Agent Brown, see what they say.” The patrolman nodded and jogged away and Wozniak turned back to the negotiator. “What do you suggest now then?” he asked and everyone looked expectantly at her as she let her eyes drift back to where Face was huddling on the ledge.

 

“I suggest I try again. See if I can at least get close enough to drop him some food and warm clothes, he looks freezing. And a radio. We might have a better chance talking to him through a radio since proximity makes him so nervous.”

 

“I’ll take them.”

 

The group fell silent and turned as one as Hannibal made his presence known. Inside he was a broiling mess of emotion after listening to all the comments made about his precious boy, but outside he was calm and imposing, it was his game face and he knew that he needed to play this game very carefully indeed.

 

Wozniak scowled at McArdle. “Who’s this schmuck?” he asked. “He with you? We shouldn’t have civilians here!”

 

“Colonel John Smith,” Hannibal interrupted, using every inch of his height to stare down at Wozniak. “United States Army Ranger. Lieutenant Peck is my Executive Officer.”

 

This time, Harris, shook his head. “Your XO?” he queried. “You want to reassess your recruitment process if that’s the kind of guy you get.”

 

Hannibal stepped a little further forward, right into Harris’ personal space. “Lieutenant Peck is an exemplary soldier and a first rate Executive Officer. He’s proved himself in situations all over the world that would have made men like you wet their pants in fear. I’d follow him to the end of the world and trust him with my life in any situation. Whatever is going on here - I guarantee you that we have, so far, seen only a slice of the whole picture. My Lieutenant is no cold blooded murderer.” Harris flushed and went to turn away but Hannibal stopped him with a finger on his chest. “And in addition to all that, Captain, the last time I checked, Americans are innocent until proven guilty. As an officer of the law, you would do well to remember that.”   

 

The flush ran deeper, but Harris had nothing to say as Hannibal turned his attention back to Wozniak. “I’ll take them,” he repeated. “The lieutenant will talk to me, I guarantee it.”

 

For a moment Wozniak didn’t reply; his shrewd eyes stared into Hannibal’s but then he nodded. “Alright. Get him a harness someone, we’ll let the Colonel go up.”

 

________________________________

 

Hannibal let them fuss him into a harness in silence, but flatly refused to allow the fire fighter to accompany him on the actual platform to see Face. “I can drive a fucking tank,” he growled, “I’m sure I can manage the up and down lever on that thing.” Eventually they conceded, and without looking at Face, Hannibal climbed onto the platform.

 

“Here,” the negotiator, Andrea, passed him a rucksack. “This is for Peck.”

 

Taking it, Hannibal regarded it doubtfully. “What’s in it?”

 

“Drink, food, a jacket. A radio. See if you can get him to use the radio.”

 

“Is that all?”

 

Andrea shrugged, “Check it of you like.” Hannibal did.

 

Straightening up again once he was convinced that there was nothing in there that would pose a threat to Face he managed to force out a flat smile. “Thanks.”

 

Nodding, Andrea walked back towards the police lines, and Hannibal was on his own. He waited until she’d ducked under the tape, before finally allowing his eyes to drift up to where Face was waiting as he eased the platform into life.

 

Face was on his feet again, standing about half a metre from the cliff edge, looking down with a frown on his face and as soon as he saw Hannibal look up he frantically shook his head. The gesture hit Hannibal in the chest like an icy spear, but he kept his eyes locked on his love as the platform rose higher.

 

“No!”

 

He hadn’t gone more than a metre in the air before Face had started shouting, but this was the first word he’d managed to make out, closely followed by, “God damn it, Hannibal! Stop!” but gritting his teeth, Hannibal kept the joystick in place and the basket continued to rise.

 

“Hannibal!”

 

Andrea had said that Face was distressed, and Hannibal’s heart ached as he saw for himself the utter truth of the statement. He was standing right the edge of the rock face now, Hannibal could actually see the toes of his sneakers peeking into the fresh air, and the sight chilled him right through to his core. 

 

“Hannibal!!!”

 

He kept his eyes on Face as he rose crept closer. “Stop! God damn it, stop!!!” He kept going. “I’ll jump!”

 

He froze, his fingers stilling the joystick and the platform shuddered to a halt in the now silent afternoon. He couldn’t possibly have heard that right. “Face...”

 

“I will!” he could see the sheer desperation in his boy’s face and it equal parts hurt and frightened him. “Get that thing down and don’t come back, or I mean it boss, you’ll be scraping parts of me off the ground all week!”

 

He just stared. “Face, I-”

 

“You’ve got until I count to ten!” Face shuffled forward another inch, the panic clear on his face, “Then I’m jumping unless you’re gone! One!”

 

“Face! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

 

“Two!”

 

Hannibal felt his own panic starting to rise. “Do you have any idea how much trouble you’re in?”

 

Face’s expression didn’t flicker, his stormy eyes set in a deathly pale face, just started wretchedly at the ground. “Three! Hannibal – get gone!”

 

Never in a million years had Hannibal expected _this_ reaction to his presence. He tried a different tack. “Kid – you have to trust me here. I can help you. Tell me what’s been going on.”

 

“Four!”

 

He shook his head, “Face!”

 

“Five!”

 

“ _Please_ kid... don’t do this to us...”

 

“Six...” For a brief second, Face screwed his eyes shut in denial but then they were open again and he turned his anguished face to Hannibal. “I’m not kidding here, boss... Go. Seven.”

 

“Trust me,” Hannibal repeated and Face’s eyes turned again, burning into him like lasers.

 

“Trust _me_ Hannibal,” he implored. “If you do trust me, if you love me, if anything you have ever said to me over the years is true, then go, now, or I swear to God, I _will_ jump.”

 

“Face...” Hannibal’s heart was breaking but he didn’t move; how on earth could the kid doubt what he felt for him?

 

“Eight.”

 

“Fucking hell...!”

 

“Nine...” Face looked away, but not before Hannibal had seen the tears streaking his dirty cheeks. “I love you, John...” he edged forward again.  “Ten.”

 

His whole body tensed, and in a moment of perfect clarity and terror, Hannibal realised that he was going to do it – he _was_ going to jump. “Okay, okay!” he yelled, instantly flicking the joystick down, “I’m going! Face? For God’s sake don’t do it! I’m going, I’m going!”

 

The platform was gently sinking, it’s noise drowning out Face’s reply, but Hannibal had seen him tense and then take a deep breath ready to leap, stopping himself at the last moment, swaying just a fraction as Hannibal retreated from him. Their eyes locked and stayed that way as the distance between them grew. Face’s cheeks still ran with unheeded tears and the expression he wore was one of such utter, utter devastation that Hannibal could barely stand it. The platform shuddered and then stopped and, blinking away his own tears, Hannibal finally tore his eyes away and climbed over the railing.

 

Hands came to help him, unclipping him from the guard rail, guiding him down the side of the engine but Hannibal barely even noticed. As soon as his feet hit the ground he started walking off, deaf and blind to everything around him, the only thought in his head being, no matter what happened from now on in, that Face was lost to him forever and he had no idea why.

 

At some point, Andrea came over to talk to him but he ignored her, sitting with his back against the wheel of the furthest cruiser, his empty eyes staring at the ground between his feet. She eventually gave up and retreated, and with a lurch Hannibal realised that he’d forgotten all about trying to get that back pack and its supplies to Face. Another failure on his part.

 

McArdle tried too, getting the same treatment until he reappeared with a Styrofoam cup of black coffee, its heavy odour finally breaking into Hannibal’s stupor. He took it with a mumbled thanks and McArdle wisely left him to it. As Hannibal sipped, he thought, refusing to give up on this, refusing to give up on _Face_ , regardless of what the other man actually wanted him to do. As he thought, the throaty rumble of jeeps filled the air and he looked up, meeting McArdle’s eye as the detective glanced down at him. “Army...” he muttered and Hannibal was instantly on his feet.

 

He hoped it was Russ, he really, really hoped it was Russ. The kid needed a friend here, they both did, but his wish was ignored as General Matt ‘Wolf’ Wilson stepped out of the rear of the jeep, his eyes instantly going to the ledge where Face was huddled against the first drops of thin rain in the air.

 

Hannibal’s long strides carried him to the jeeps in seconds, long before Wozniak had even noticed their visitors. Wolf saw him coming and Hannibal threw up a salute as he stalked in, one that was instantly returned by the General.

 

“Hannibal,” he greeted in response to Hannibal’s, “Sir.” “What the hell is going on here, son?”

 

Swallowing down all sign of emotion, Hannibal gave him a quick report, making sure that he kept anything out of his words that might make it sound as if Face had actually done what the masses thought he had. Wolf wasn’t a fool though, and as Hannibal finished his explanation he let his eyes drift back to the ledge. “This doesn’t look good, Hannibal...” he muttered. “Imagine the field day the press are going to have with this? The army is supposed to protect Americans, not race across country killing them.”

 

Hannibal gritted his teeth. “Face hasn’t killed anyone.”

 

The General looked at him, his keen, brown eyes boring straight into Hannibal’s blue ones. “I never said he did, but that’s the way it looks, you’ve got to admit that.” Hannibal just pursed his lips. “We need to get this wrapped up. We need him down off that rock and in our custody right _now_. We’ll get him the best care, PTSD can be a bitch, we all know that. You have my word – I’ll do whatever I can to keep him out of the chair, see if we can get him tried here in North Dakota.”

 

Fear, anger and horror surged through Hannibal in equal measures and he had to work hard to keep his face empty of emotion. “Sir,” even still, his voice was choked, “he hasn’t done anything, I know he hasn’t.”

 

Wolf smiled a compassionate but pitying smile. “I know this is hard, I know how loyal you are to your men, but this is a mess you just can’t fix, son; you need to accept that.” Hannibal stared as Wolf sighed, eyes on the wetly shining rock face once more. “You need to get up there,” he said quietly, “and talk that boy down. You’re the only one he’s ever listened to, God knows we’ve all seen that.”

 

“He’s already tried.” Wozniak’s voice, laced with thinly veiled contempt sounded out behind them. “And what a waste of time that was. General Wilson?” Wolf nodded, “Captain Wozniak, NDPD, if you’d like to step this way, I’ll fully brief you on the situation.”

 

Hannibal’s teeth were almost fused together as he bit back the dressing down he wanted to throw Wozniak’s way. Instead he merely nodded at Wolf as the man clapped his shoulder sympathetically and made his way over to Wozniak’s command post.

 

“I knew he was a prick,” McArdle muttered drawing up to Hannibal’s side. “I guess Peck said nothing that helps us out here?”

 

Hannibal shook his head. “But I’m telling you, something’s not right. Something’s got Face scared to death up there, and that’s not an easy thing to do, believe me.”

 

“More scared than facing death row?”

 

Hannibal looked at him. “He’s never been scared by death; doing what we do, how could he be? No – there’s more to this, much more, I got to think about it...” and with that he walked off, leaving McArdle staring after him.      

 

________________________________

 

It was growing dark, the rain was falling steadily now and bright lights were being set up to illuminate the rock where Face was still holed up. Hannibal was no further on in  his thoughts and the snippets of news he’d been given in the last few hours were doing nothing to bolster his optimism.

 

First of all came the text that Murdock and BA weren’t being allowed through the Police roadblocks. McArdle and Wolf had done what they could about that, but Wozniak was standing firm, according to him there were enough ‘civilians’ on the scene already.  Then, McArdle returned once more with the information that the CIA claimed no knowledge of an Agent Brown. That was no huge surprise to Hannibal, he wouldn’t ever trust anyone from the company as far as he could pee, but still, it was a blow.

 

At that, he’d got on his phone to Murdock, he knew the pilot had a few CIA contacts of his own, and set the two of them onto finding out anything they could about the elusive Agent Brown. And then he sat down again, legs out stretched on the wet ground as his mind whirled round and around the mess they were in and any possible way they had to get out of it.

 

He hadn’t been sat long, the rain had abated and darkness had fallen completely, when he heard footsteps at his side. Thinking it was McArdle once more, he ignored them, staring at the ground still, trying to come up with a plan and not think about the terror in Face’s expression when he’d seen Hannibal coming towards him on that platform. He only looked around when a bundled up trench coat landed on the ground next to him, followed quickly by a dark suited legs and butt.

 

The light from the Night Stars bled out enough for Hannibal to make out the dark eyes, crinkled with what could be taken as amusement, watching him carefully from his shoulder and he pulled back a little, eyes running over the suit and tie, the neatly combed dark hair and landed on a fairly obvious conclusion. “Agent Brown?” he hissed.

 

His visitor however just shook his head apologetically. “Nah... I don’t think you’ll get him showing his face around here, not after the mess he’s caused.” Hannibal frowned. “Instead he’s just left it up to us to pick up the pieces and keep your Lieutenant out of jail. Right, Colonel?” The man’s voice was soft and curiously lilting, like he was in no hurry at all here and everything around him was part of some huge, but only mildly amusing, joke.

 

Hannibal didn’t flicker, “And you are?”

 

The visitor grimaced slightly, “You know... I’m really not supposed to be here, and I mean _really_ not supposed to be here, but... well... I heard what was going down and... couldn’t resist helping out. Sunflower seed?”

 

Ignoring the paper bag that was thrust his way, Hannibal glared at him in the dark. “You didn’t answer my question.”  

 

“No...” a handful of sunflower seeds were thrown into the stranger’s mouth. “Okay. I can see how that would be annoying it’s just, Hannibal... can I call you Hannibal?” Still Hannibal didn’t move. “It’s just...” he paused, obviously thinking of the best way to impart this nugget of information, a longer pause in his already steady Massachusetts accent making Hannibal’s teeth grind together. “It’s just, you’re best off not really mentioning my name. It won’t do your cause much good. You just need to trust me.”

 

Hannibal scoffed at that. “Trust the CIA? After the mess you’ve got Face into? You’ve got to be pissing me.”

 

“Not CIA,” the visitor’s voice fell. “FBI, and that’s all you need to know. If you want a name, you can call me Reynard, Reynard Muldrake, okay? It’s not my real name, but believe me, the truth might be out there but you do not need it on this one.” For some reason that Hannibal couldn’t work out, his visitor seemed to find that statement amusing.

 

The silence stretched between them before Hannibal spoke again, “Alright. So, what do you want from me?”

 

Muldrake sighed. “Nothing. This is nothing to do with me, but that little shit ‘Brown’... he’s playing with things he doesn’t understand and I can’t stand to sit back and watch.”

 

“What kind of things? Face?”

 

“Your LT?” Hannibal felt the shrug from Muldrake’s shoulder, “Maybe. But it’s the sphere he wants the most.”

 

Hannibal stilled. “The _sphere_?”

 

“Ah... yeah. You don’t know, do you...” There was a long sigh followed by more crunching of sunflower seeds. “Okay. I’m going to give you the potted version of events. We’re on the clock don’t forget, time’s not our friend, so listen up and only ask questions at the end, you got that?”

 

Hannibal felt his teeth clench once more, but he remained calm, wondering if he was going to get some answers after all and simply nodded instead. 

 

Muldrake turned to him, his eyes dark and intense, his voice more hurried now. “Okay, so your man, Face?” Hannibal nodded once more. “Brown got to him in Iraq, gave him a sphere to carry back to the USA, sneak it in away from all the interested parties that were sniffing around his own backside.” Hannibal looked like he wanted to say something but Muldrake didn’t give him chance to speak. “But what Brown doesn’t know, not really ‘cause he’s a prick, is that the harmless looking ball could be used as a weapon, alien in origin, brought to earth in a downed spacecraft in Siberia about five years ago.”

 

Here Muldrake paused but Hannibal didn’t speak so he carried on. “Anyway, the grenade’s been passed about a little, people dying a lot on the way and so Brown decided he wanted it, no research, just wanted it. So - he killed a few more people, and then he had it but he had a bit of trouble, a few people were closer to him than he liked so he needed your man to get it out the country.”

 

“Did he know what it could do?” Hannibal couldn’t keep quiet any longer.

 

“Brown? Kind of, but not quite. Another reason he didn’t want to carry it.”

 

Hannibal closed his eyes and let out a long breath. “But he knew it was dangerous? And he wasn’t bothered? That it might kill Face? That it might kill anyone he went near?”

 

Muldrake shrugged. “Well, to give him his due, it’s not usually so _active_ as it has been this week, and... well that’s why he needed Face, what he did know was that certain people are immune to its effects...”

 

“Immune?”

 

“Yeah. Seems some people are born with a chromosomal aberration, an extra piece of chromosomal DNA which, in this case, protects them from the effects of the sphere. In the US population, that’s about one in ten and guess what? One of them’s your boy up there.”

 

Hannibal thought about that. “Brown knew that?”

 

“He did. You remember your latest TD shots? When you needed to give a blood sample too? Check your levels of immunisation?” Hannibal stared and Muldrake nodded. “Yeah, that was Brown.” Hannibal’s eyes darkened. 

 

“So, what does he want with it?”

 

Muldrake laughed. “You’re kidding, right? What do you think? He wants to take it apart, make it bigger, better, deadlier. Imagine the destruction it could cause set off in the right places? It works psychokinetically, mind control, no one needs to even touch it, as long as they are close enough... massacre.”

 

“Hang on,” Hannibal was leaning in now, his brow furrowed. “You saying that Face is setting this thing off on purpose? With his _mind_?”

 

“I doubt it. No one has ever managed to control it properly, it was never designed to work off the human mind. My guess is that he’s firing it off by accident.”

 

Hannibal dropped his head into his hands, rubbing his brow. “Fucking hell...”

 

“I know.” Muldrake sighed. “Look, Hannibal, I know this is a lot to take in, but we gotta move fast here.” Hannibal looked up. “I can get your boy out of here. I can get him to someone who can take that sphere off him and dispose of it safely, but we have to move now – you understand that?”

 

Again they stared at each other and then Hannibal frowned, the question he’d wanted to ask from right back at the start sliding to the front of his mind once more. “He wouldn’t do that,” he stated and Muldrake frowned in confusion. “If Brown asked him to bring that thing home, he wouldn’t. Not unless he ran it past me first.”

 

The silence was back. There wasn’t a scrap of humour in Muldrake’s face now, he regarded Hannibal with sober eyes and then slowly reached into the breast pocket of his jacket, pulling an envelope out with him and handing it to Hannibal. “I’m sorry,” he sounded it as well. “But he did agree, and I think this explains the why.”

 

With a pounding heart, Hannibal opened the envelope and glanced at the first photograph of the stack tucked inside. He sucked in a breath as, even in the dim light, he could make out the crystal clear image of Face in the showers on his knees with Hannibal’s dick in his mouth, but his brain had arrived there already. Of course. Of course, this is what Brown was holding over Face. Of course this was what had had Face going off on his own, thinking he could make it all right without worrying Hannibal. Of course. He  closed the envelope up and tucked it into his own pocket. “Right...” was all he could say.

 

“We need to move,” Muldrake said gently. “You need to go back to him, he trusts you. Get him down from that ledge and we’re out of here.”

 

Hannibal frowned. “Out of here? How?” and Muldrake smiled.

 

“You let me worry about that. It’s all planned.”

 

That wasn’t enough though. “And the sphere? He won’t let me anywhere near him,” suddenly Face’s terror, the reason he was up that cliff, his horror at seeing Hannibal so close, it all made sense.

 

Muldrake’s smile widened. “Unless of course you’re a one in ten too.”

 

Hannibal thought that over. “And you?” and watched his new ally’s face.

 

“Maybe not.” A grim smile. “Makes it kind of exciting though, yeah?”

 

“No.” Hannibal shook his head vehemently. “I know Face, I know he’ll have a hard enough time dealing with the guilt of the deaths of all those people without adding another to the list. No way.”

 

Muldrake shifted forward. “Trust me – without my help, you’re going nowhere.”

 

“Let me tell the General,” Hannibal implored. “Once he knows the truth he’ll help out, I know he will. He wants Face out of this mess as much as I do.”

 

There was a pause, and then Muldrake looked up into the darkness, his voice, still soft, called out, “You there McArdle?” there was a pause and then the Missoula detective stepped forward his eyes fixed on Hannibal.

 

“You _knew_ all of this?” Hannibal spat accusingly at him.

 

“No,” it was Muldrake who answered though, “Not until about twenty minutes ago,” and then he turned back to McArdle. “Tell him about the General.”

 

McArdle sighed, his expression wretched. “General Wilson has sent a request back to Fort Lewis,” he explained quietly. “He’s asked for an Army marksman be sent over here.”

 

Hannibal’s blood ran cold. “ _What?_ ” he hissed.

 

“I’m sorry,” McArdle shuffled under Hannibal’s anger. “He said he has no idea how all those people were killed and he can’t run the risk of Peck this turning into a massacre.”

 

“Jesus Christ...”

 

Silence drifted in and out of the three men until finally Hannibal looked up and met Muldrake’s eyes head on. “Okay then,” the determination was clear for all to hear. “Tell me how we’re gonna do this.”

 

Muldrake looked at McArdle, “You in?”

 

There was a pause, enough to start Hannibal’s heart hammering anew and then McArdle nodded, his jaw set in obvious resolution. “I’m in.”

 

Muldrake nodded, “Alright then, listen up...”

 

_______________________________

 

Face huddled miserably on the rocky ledge. Sharp stones dug into his butt and back, he was soaked through by the fine rain and frozen almost to the core by the wind and the wet, and on top of it all, that damn sphere was _still_ in his pocket.

 

He’d had a plan when he left Dickinson twenty four hours ago. Maybe not at the moment he’d fled the motel, but by the time he’d left town he knew exactly what he was going to do and where he was going to go. He knew he had to hide the thing somewhere safe and free of people, go back into town and tell Hannibal everything and then they were going to head to Chicago, intent on telling Brown where he could find his prize – and where he could stick his head.

 

He thought he’d found the perfect place, a little cave, tall but narrow, in a fissure of rock. He’d

stashed the orb right at the back, hidden under loose stones and leaves and then he’d started jogging back towards town. He had no idea what made him turn around as he cleared the brow of a little hillock about two miles away, but he saw them as clear as day – four hikers making their way slowly and surely towards the mouth of his cave. He’d sprinted back, thundering over the muddy ground, yelling at them to get the hell away before they all died, but, perversely, they just seemed to go quicker. And then he got there, right in the entrance and they were staring at him with stupid blank faces and he could not believe their idiocy, but before he had chance to say anything else, three of them had just dropped down dead.

 

He’d never seen it before, even though he knew damn well it had happened. It was almost choreographed they way they sagged as if all their bones had suddenly turned to dust, first falling to their knees and then their stomachs, dropping gracefully into death. Face had stared, dumbstruck, not even really noticing that one man was still standing – not until the yelling started up that was. He rubbed his sore eyes with numb fingers as he thought about that, the way that poor guy’s anger and grief and confusion just exploded out in Face’s direction. Face watched, numb, as he’d gone from corpse to corpse, checking for a pulse that wasn’t there, trying to gauge breathing that wasn’t happening.

 

He’d called Face every name under the sun, of course he had, how would Face have reacted if he’d seen his brothers, his only family, cut down like that right in front of him? But the incident had ruined his plan, he was floundering again, so he just grabbed the orb and ran for it, trying to get away, out into the wilderness before anyone else died. It was never to be, the police helicopter found him first and so he headed here, a place where he could – hopefully – keep them away from him, make his last stand without any more innocent deaths as he waited for Brown to come to him.

 

It was almost dark now, and Brown hadn’t arrived; Face’s empty stomach twisted with the stark realisation that perhaps he wasn’t even coming.  What would he do then? What other options did he have left?

 

The NDPD’s Night Stars burned away in front of him, taking away his view of anything other than piercing white lights but he knew that Hannibal was down there somewhere. His heart broke all over again as he thought back to their disastrous reunion earlier that afternoon. It had been bad enough when that petite negotiator and the fireman had come within range of the sphere, but to see Hannibal coming up there, getting closer and closer all the time... Face had not been kidding when he said that he would have jumped to get the thing away from him; it had been a close call. But the look on his lover’s face... the man who had always believed and supported him... Hannibal didn’t deserve that; he’d never deserved anything less.

 

So... what to do? Face had run right out of plans other than sit here and hope that Brown would come and sort this mess out for him. His hopes weren’t high though and he knew that he’d never, ever be able to talk his way out of nine counts of homicide. His eyes drifted to the edge of the rock; maybe that was the only viable alternative?

 

A sudden noise startled him and he squinted futilely against the dazzling lights, trying to pinpoint what was going on. He was totally blind, but the noise continued, increasing in volume until he was able to work out what it was and his blood chilled in his veins. It was chanting, shouting, screaming yelling. Many voices, getting louder by the second and all yelling about the same things – about him.

 

Face dropped his head to his knees and screwed his eyes closed. A lynch mob – just what he needed, probably come down from the nearest town. Of course they would feel like this though, they probably had their pitchforks in their hands and the rope around the lynching tree all ready for him. It was scant comfort to know that the NDPD would protect him, wouldn’t let them beat him to a pulp and string him up. But just knowing that there were people out there that felt like this, an entire town or state – hell maybe the entire country for all he knew – well, it was enough to make him wish that the cops just wouldn’t bother, let them get at him and be done with it all.

 

Abruptly, the Night Stars extinguished with a soft _whump_ and Face scrambled onto his feet, unsteady legs struggling to hold his weight while, despite his dark thoughts from a moment ago, fear raged through his body like fire. He couldn’t see a thing, hours of the bright lights shining in his eyes had killed every scrap of night vision he should have had but he could hear the mob below, screaming and baying for his blood, ignoring the loud hailered orders to disperse. 

 

It sounded like a fully fledged riot and he leant back against the rock, wondering how long it would be before they got him. Suddenly, a scuffling noise sounded above him and he whirled on his heels, eyes blindly starring upwards as he was showered with dust and gravel. His training instantly kicked in, that inbuilt desire to survive despite any opinions his head might have on the matter. Someone was on that ledge with him now and he blindly struck out, wondering why they hadn’t just shoved him off to his doom.

 

His punch never connected though, he was cold and tired and stiff and weak and the next thing he knew, his fist had been wrapped up in a big, warm palm and he was spun around, his back pressed to a solid body, his chest held tight and he tensed to fight back just as a voice hissed right into his ear, “Stand down, soldier!”

 

He stopped. Every muscle and nerve in his body obeyed that voice just as they had done for so many years now. But, “No...” he whispered, his earth-shattering relief at being held like this, at no longer being so _alone_ tempered by the realisation that the hell-spawned orb was still in his pocket, making his salvation impossible.

 

Hannibal’s arms just held him tighter.

 

“Face...” God, how he loved that voice. “Stop struggling and listen to me, kid, we don’t have long.”

 

He hadn’t even realised that he’d started struggling again, but he needed Hannibal away from him before the unthinkable could happen. “Hannibal please  – you have to go!”

 

“I’m safe,” a rough kiss landed on his cheek. “It can’t hurt me, just like it’s never hurt you. Stop struggling, and let me help you.”

 

The words hit Face in the gut and he froze, allowing Hannibal to turn him until they were face to face, the other man’s feature barely recognisable in the black. “You... you _know?_ ”

 

He felt Hannibal’s sigh drift over him. “I know, kid. I know it all.”

 

Face swallowed hard, trying to keep himself together, hating the way he crumbled like this with Hannibal. “They think I killed them...” he whispered.

 

Another rough kiss was pushed onto his lips. “I know. And I know you didn’t, but we have to go. I have friends down there, they’re going to help us.”

 

Face took a step, tugged by Hannibal’s relentless pressure but then he stopped once more. “But... those people...” The sounds of the mob were just as loud as before, if not even louder, but to his surprise, Hannibal just laughed. 

 

“They’re with me,” he muttered. “Rent-a-mob. Now come on.”

 

Face had no more arguments left in him, he meekly let Hannibal manhandle him into a climbing harness and then together they turned to face the slick rock behind them. “You gonna be able to do this, kid?” Hannibal asked him quietly. “I should have brought you some warm clothes up...”

 

Looking up at the towering rock face, Face took a deep breath and hauled on every ounce of strength and fortitude he had left. “It’s okay,” he told Hannibal, surprising himself at how steady his voice was. “I’ve got this.”

 

“You sure?” the worry was clear in Hannibal’s tone. “I could haul you up...”

 

Face just shook his head and started to climb, Hannibal right behind him, his presence warming him in the bitter night.

 

They scrambled up in silence, Face needing every scrap of concentration and strength just to get up to the top. As soon as he was there though, breathing heavy clouds of vapour into the night, Hannibal’s hands were back on his, releasing him from the safety ropes, smoothing over his frozen skin and then, when Face stumbled at his first step forward, taking hold of him and throwing him over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift.

 

“Hey!” Face hissed, kicking out, hating to be carried like a damsel.

 

“Face, please,” Hannibal was already on the move, jogging down the steep scree at the rear of the rock face. “It’s just quicker. Quarter of a mile, that’s all then there’s a car.”

 

Face wanted to protest, to struggle and pout until Hannibal let him have his way, but instead he just fell silent. He’d heard the very rare desperation in his boss’ voice, and anyway, his frozen body was hungrily devouring the scraps of heat leeching into his chilled flesh and so he just hung his head and held on. Before too long, however, he was being dropped back onto his numb feet and Hannibal was holding him fast, propelling him forward until he almost fell into the rear seats of an idling 4x4. “Go!” Hannibal barked the second his feet were off the ground and Face found himself thrown against the seats again as, with a roar and a surge of gravel, the car shot away.

 

The next few minutes were all a bit of a blur for Face. He was quickly stripped of his sodden clothes, his numb fingers so unresponsive, he gave up trying to help and let Hannibal just get on with it. Then he was being dressed again, all the bouncing around in the back of the car making it harder to struggle into the cold but dry clothes that Hannibal was tugging over him. Finally though, after two pairs of thick, warm socks had been pulled over his frozen feet, he was hauled upright again, rammed up against Hannibal’s chest as a rustling space blanket was tugged tightly around him and then Hannibal pulled him even closer, tucking his damp hair into the space under his own chin and finally letting him rest.

 

They were careering madly over pitch black terrain, a single unknown and silent driver at the wheel. The warmth of Hannibal and the insulation of the blanket was finally breathing some life into Face’s frozen body, awakening a deluge of pain all over him but he forced himself to try and relax, just pressing back into Hannibal’s bulk, welcoming the pins and needles that were running riot all over him, and just letting himself hope that maybe there was an end in sight to all of this now.     

 

Apart from hissed commands, Hannibal hadn’t spoken to him since they’d clambered into the car, but one large hand had slipped up under the layers of t-shirts and fleeces to find bare skin and was now gently rubbing through the sparse hairs that sprinkled over the skin all around his navel. Face closed his eyes, forcing back the moisture that had sprung up at the gentle touch and just lay there, marvelling at the love he could feel simply radiating out from that huge palm.

 

Shame crashed over him like a tidal wave. What had he done to Hannibal and his team this last day? What tortures had he put them through when they’d heard all that he was supposed to have done? He swallowed the sudden, choking grief back. And yet here Hannibal was, running from the police with him, the Army too, risking his own neck and reputation just to help Face out of his own stupid mess. He didn’t deserve this, this wonderful man who loved him unconditionally – and now he realised that he never would.

 

_______________________________

 

McArdle perched on the back ledge of the ambulance, his hands shaking as he held the sweetened coffee that someone had given him, the blanket on his shoulders keeping out the worst of the chill, but the cold stare he was getting from Wozniak was threatening to freeze his insides over.

 

“Did you see what weapons they were carrying?” It was ‘Wolf’ Wilson who was questioning him though, crouched in the mud at his feet, his eyes crinkled in concern.

 

“I didn’t see much...” McArdle muttered, sticking to the carefully constructed story. “They came from behind us, hit me on the back of the head.”

 

“But you’re sure they took Smith?”

 

“Yeah. I was laid in the mud though, it’s all a bit fuzzy-”

 

“How convenient...” both McArdle and Wolf ignored Wozniak’s bitter muttering.

 

“-but I could hear them asking where it was. Hannibal said he didn’t know what they were on about, but they said they were going to go and find it. That either him or Peck would tell him where it was.”

 

There was a pause. “But they didn’t say what, ‘it’ was?”

 

McArdle shook his head, instantly wishing he hadn’t when his very real concussion rang through his skull; when he’d asked Hannibal to hit him, make it look real, he hadn’t realised how much it would actually hurt...

 

Wolf straightened up with a sigh and, following a pointed jerk of Wozniak’s head, the two of them moved away from McArdle, letting the EMTs back to look him over as they conferred in the dark.

 

“You believe that horse-shit?” Wozniak was straight to the point.

 

Without looking at him however, Wolf let the silence spread, waited until the Police chief was shuffling awkwardly before he answered. “If I didn’t believe it,” he said slowly, “then I’d be accusing a well respected Police officer, not to mention a long serving and completely trustworthy Colonel in my own unit, of obstructing justice – not to mention harbouring a fugitive of the law. Is that what you’re saying?”

 

Wozniak frowned. “No, of course not. All I’m saying is that it’s all very convenient – these people in black masks turning up, taking Smith _and_ Peck, just as we have our hands full dealing with that mob and all the lights out!”

 

“I don’t think it’s convenient at all,” Wolf told him dryly. “I’m sure that whoever planned this, planned all of that as well. It’s just unfortunate that your men weren’t able to stop them...”

 

“My men didn’t even _see_ them,” Wozniak shot back. “They were too busy sorting out that riot!”

 

Any further arguments were halted by the arrival of a soldier in BDUs who threw a quick salute at Wolf then stood to attention in front of him.

 

“At ease, Sergeant,” Wolf told him, “What have you found?”

 

“Four sets of footprints, sir, which would fit in with the four assailants that the detective reported. They come in from the west, from a farm track there, then leave the same way, more prints this time although it’s hard to see how many, the mud is too wet.”

 

Wolf considered that. “Vehicle?” he barked and the sergeant nodded.

 

“From the tracks it looks like a medium sized van, sir. A step van maybe. Tracks head back north.”

 

This time it was Wolf that nodded. “Okay, good work son. See what else you can find.” The sergeant saluted again and jogged away as Wolf turned back to the Police chief. “Well, that seems to prove McArdle’s story alright,” he said blandly. “You gonna get the chopper up? See if you can find that van? I take the kidnap of army personal very seriously you know.”

 

Wozniak didn’t reply, he only turned on his heel, his booming shout of, “Harris!” making McArdle wince once more.     

 

_________________________

 

“How much longer until we’re on the road?” Hannibal asked, his voice after so much silence jolting Face from the edge of sleep.

 

“We’ll hit a minor road in about twenty minutes,” the man behind the wheel answered slowly. “The interstate in another three hours after that. We can rest at Pierre – I know a good spot.” There was a moment’s silence before, “I just hope they swallowed McArdle’s story...” was tagged onto the end.

 

Hannibal didn’t answer, only sat back and pulled Face a little tighter against his chest, but Face was awake now, and wondering just what the hell was going on – and who their mystery chauffer was. He knew it wasn’t safe to ask though, knew that Hannibal would have told him anyway if he’d thought it appropriate, so he bit his tongue and asked the only question he felt he could. “Where are the others?”

 

“Safe,” Hannibal murmured, kissing his head and Face took the hint, only sighing a little as he lay back and just concentrated on getting warm once more.

 

It was less than twenty minutes after that when they left the bouncing terrain behind them and finally swung onto a narrow back road. The pitted surface still felt like silk, however, after the hour they’d had driving off road and the muttered, “Thank God for that...” Face heard coming from the front seats let him know he wasn’t the only one who’d noticed.

 

Nothing else was said in the whole three hours that they drove through the black night, heading south all the while. Face drifted in and out of sleep as he lay against Hannibal’s chest, rousing himself slightly as they hit US-83 and their driver made a quiet phone call, his words drowned out by the engine of the 4x4. Hannibal seemed unconcerned however, and so Face tried to still the nervous pounding of his heart and lay back once more.

 

It was starting to get light, the silvery ribbon of dawn threading its way along the horizon, when the car slowed and headed up a dirt track. “This is us,” came the voice from the front. “There’s an apartment over the garage, use anything you find up there and try to get some sleep, we need to be on the road again in six hours.”

 

“What about you?” Face could hear Hannibal’s voice rumbling through his chest.

 

“I’ll stay close. I have some people that will handle the security, all you need to do is try to rest.”

 

Again Hannibal stayed quiet as the car pulled into the yard of an old wooden house, bouncing slowly over the rutted ground before swinging into a huge timber garage, the doors standing wide and welcoming. Once they were inside, the engine cut out almost immediately and their driver instantly climbed out, Hannibal, disentangling himself from Face, followed.

 

Face winced as he pulled himself upright and edged towards the door. His entire body ached, and he was still cold, despite the clothes and Hannibal and the blanket, the chill that had settled in him seemed to go right down to his very core. He gingerly put his socked feet on the cold floor and pushed himself up, gritting his teeth against the pain that ran through him at the movement then looked over to where Hannibal and their driver were conferring at the other side of the vehicle. This was his first proper look at their chauffer, and he ran his eyes over the formal cut of his suit, the neatly combed hair, and the tell tale bulge of weapon and wondered if this was another CIA stooge come to stiff them.

 

The two men were conversing quietly and Face gingerly approached them, leaning on the hood of the car to try and keep some of the weight off his feet, the stranger’s eyes flicking up to his as soon as he saw him coming. “How you doing there?” he asked, cutting short his conversation with Hannibal and also effectively warning the colonel that Face was there and within hearing distance, Face couldn’t help bristling a bit at that.

 

“Fine,” he answered shortly, taking his weight of the front of the car and standing up straight. “And you are?”

 

To Face’s annoyance the man just laughed. “Pleased to have the pleasure of your sparkling company, Lieutenant Peck,” he started walking towards the door. “And don’t you two get carried away in here, we might need to leave in a hurry, keep your clothes on.” With that, and a lewd wink, he vanished behind the double doors and they swung closed in his wake.

 

“Who is that asshole?” Face spat, turning on Hannibal, hands planted on his hips.

 

“The guy that saved your bacon,” Hannibal growled. “That was rude, Face. And uncalled for. Can you manage these steps?”

 

Face just sighed and walked past Hannibal towards the wooden staircase, keeping the pain out of his expression as he hauled himself up the stairs to the apartment above.

 

The room above the garage was a well appointed studio with a double bed, small sitting area, galley kitchen and en-suite. It was warm and there were microwavable meals in the icebox which Hannibal instantly started preparing as Face shuffled off towards the promise of a hot shower.

 

He stood under the spray, letting the heat slowly defrost his frozen insides and wondered just how much trouble he was actually in with Hannibal here. It was hard to judge. Yes, Face had screwed up, and dragged the boss in to his mess as well now, but he’d only been trying to do the right thing, only trying to protect as many people as he could. Back on that ledge, Hannibal had said he knew, but knew what? How much? Did he know about the pictures? About the fact that Face had tried to save him from that? Maybe that’s why he was pissed, because he realised that all of this had only happened because Face had let his guard down at the crucial moment...

 

Or maybe Face was just reading this situation all wrong. Maybe Hannibal was just stressed at the mess they were in, Face himself still didn’t see a way out of all this for them, unless of course the suit that had brought them here was a miracle worker. Maybe that’s all the tension was about and it wasn’t pointed at Face. Maybe. He guessed the only way that he’d find out for real would be to ask of course, and with a heavy heart, he switched off the water.   

 

______________________________

 

Hannibal stepped out of the en-suite, already dressed and towelling his hair dry. Muldrake’s words about them ‘not getting carried away’ burnt at the back of his mind, but he knew that he deserved them; if he’d not been so lax back in Iraq, let his scorching need for Face push away both his own common sense and Face’s very rational objections, then they wouldn’t be in the mess they were in now, and Face wouldn’t have suffered the way he had.

 

He’d hoped that he’d find Face asleep on the bed when he finished his own quick shower, the chilli mac that Hannibal had heated through for him eaten and the duvet chasing away the last of the chill he’d felt in the kid’s flesh. He supposed he had to be happy with a fifty percent completion rate as his eyes fell on the empty plastic tray, and then drifted to where Face was stood against the wall, eyes on the window, arms wrapped tightly around his chest. Hannibal tried hard not to sigh.

 

He moved into the room, watching Face from under his damp hair and wondered at the posture. “Still cold?” he asked gently, his heart sinking at the shake of the head he received as his answer. He wandered over to the kitchen, tidying up their mess and watching as Face paced from window to window like a caged tiger, his brow furrowed, his face set. If he wasn’t cold, then he was feeling the need to protect himself from something and Hannibal had an awful, sinking feeling that he knew just what, _who_ , had Face feeling so threatened.

 

But he left him whilst he tidied everything away, making it look as if they’d never even been there, before setting the alarm on his watch and placing everything they would need to take with them on the table next to the door. Then, with a last quick look at Face who was still scowling out of the window, he moved to the bed and lay down.

 

He pretended he wasn’t watching, had his arm up over his eyes, but could still see Face through the gap near his elbow, watched the surprised and very furtive look that was thrown his way before the scowl was back and the arms were tightened. His heart sank, he’d been right. He let the moment stretch out, let his own breathing even and deepen, let Face have a moment to start to come down a little himself and then he spoke. “Hey, kid,” he made his voice deliberately sleepy. “Come over here, you’ve gotta be tired.”

 

For a whole minute there was nothing. He didn’t dare peep under his arm in case Face caught him, so he waited, deliberately breathing slowly and deeply, knowing, after all these years with Face, just how to handle these emotional glitches.

 

“No,” Face’s voice when it came was undeniably brusque and Hannibal’s heart sank further. “I’m fine. Slept in the car. I’ll keep watch.”

 

Again, Hannibal bit back a sigh. “You don’t need to keep watch,” he said quietly, knowing that he was playing right into Face’s hands. “Muldrake has some people who can do that. We need to rest.”

 

“You trust him?” and there it was, “How can you trust him? You’ve barely even met him!”

 

“Sweetheart...” Hannibal forced his voice into calmness. “Come and lie down.”

 

“How can I lie down?” Face’s voice was a hiss and Hannibal’s stomach clenched unpleasantly. Even though he could hear the very real anger there, he knew it was nothing more than a front, that behind it all, Face was full of broken glass and was repeatedly hauling himself back and forth over it, just keeping the punishment going until Hannibal could take over. “How can you be so calm? Have you no idea at all how much trouble I’m in here? Don’t you realise that this fucking ball _kills people?_ Don’t you care?”

 

Slowly, Hannibal removed his arm and pinned Face with the gentlest look he could manage. “Don’t,” his voice, none-the-less was still sharper than he’d planned. Face blinked at him and Hannibal reined his temper back again as he sat up. “Face, _darling_ ,” he whispered, “I know what you’re doing and I’m not going to be party to it. Not at all.”

 

For a split second confusion washed over Face’s expression, but then it was gone and the anger was back. “What _am_ I doing? All I’m doing is trying to keep us safe when you seem only too keen to let any Tom, Dick or Harry you’ve just met do that job for us!”

 

“No, you’re not.” Hannibal knew his face was sad, knew that his show of emotion would be pushing Face even closer to the edge, but he couldn’t help it. He _hated_ it when Face did this to himself; it was his own mental version of corporal mortification, a self-applied cilice to the heart and mind and Hannibal _hated_ that, despite all the years he’d spent plugging all of Face’s emotional gaps, he still felt the need to do it. “You’re trying to get me into an argument so that I’ll yell at you and say things I don’t mean and then you’ll feel properly punished for what you see as your failings.”

 

Again Face just blinked at him, his mouth open and Hannibal realised that they’d never actually done this before, put into words this dance they always did.

 

“No, I’m not...” now Face’s voice was nothing more than a shocked whisper. “I’m just-”

 

“Face, please,” but Hannibal was too close to his own edge to be able to keep it up. “I’m sore and I’m tired. I’m so god-damn relieved to have you back and to know that, for now, you’re safe and at my side, and yes, I’m more than a little – concerned – at what’s coming next. So, I don’t want to argue with you, I don’t want you to push me into disciplining you for whatever it is you think you’ve done wrong, I love you baby, I just want to hold you and kiss you and make myself believe that you’re here and you didn’t jump to your death right in front of me and this is some weird Freudian defence mechanism that’s kicked in to try and keep me alive after you’ve gone.”

 

His tumbling words finally stopped and he looked up, eyes wary at Face’s stunned expression. For a second he thought he’d ruined it all when he saw Face twitch and thought he’d have to race him for the door, but then the panic seemed to recede and Face sagged like a punctured tyre, his face crumpling as he crawled onto the end of the bed and up into Hannibal’s arms.

 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his breath hitching in his throat. “Why do you put up with me? God, Hannibal, I’m so sorry...”

 

Hannibal himself couldn’t speak, he just held on to the living, breathing love in his arms and pulled them both to the bed, kissing damp, curling hair over and over and over as his soul slowly knit back into one piece.    

 

On the floor at the end of the bed, unnoticed by the two men who were now thoroughly distracted, the almost-forgotten orb was buzzing in a half-hearted manner inside the pocket of Face’s once-wet jeans. If Face had been watching he would know that this was the time when the buzzing generally intensified, getting louder and louder until it turned into the blinding, invisible pulse that had proved such a killer. Not this time though, this time, as Face relaxed under Hannibal’s soothing hands and cherishing kisses, it seemed to soothe right along with him, the buzzing fading until the whole thing slid into silence once more. Harmless.

 

______________________

 

Face opened his eyes to a buzzing and sat bolt upright, his heart hammering as he thought back to that damn sphere, but all he saw was a tired and dishevelled Hannibal sitting next to him, switching the alarm off on his watch. “Okay, kid?” he asked, his eyes crinkling in a smile. “You ready to get going?”

 

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” like Hannibal, Face was still dressed and he swung his legs off the bed, looking at where his own, once damp, clothes lay. “I just need the bathroom and I’m gonna get changed. Coffee would be good too.”

 

“I’m already on the coffee,” Hannibal promised as he padded across the room. “Can’t help you with the rest though.”

 

Face huffed out a little laugh and went to freshen up.

 

It was midday, but the day was cold with the kind of washed out sun that offered little in the way of warmth. Even though sunset was still a good five hours away, it already had that feeling of impending twilight about it. Hannibal sighed and hoped that wasn’t any kind of weird metaphor for their lives. He glanced up as Face wandered back in again and turned with the coffee to find him standing in his trunks staring at the blue and silver orb in his hand.

 

“Muldrake said to keep our clothes on,” he teased, wanting to take that look of despair from his boy’s face, but Face’s frown only deepened, he turned to Hannibal.

 

“I am sorry for all this, boss,” he whispered and Hannibal’s heart sank. Putting the two mugs of instant coffee down on the table, he walked up and wrapped his hands around Face’s own, covering the orb from sight at the same time.    

 

“We’ve been over this,” he soothed, “and we’ve finished with it now. You hear me Face? It’s done with.” They’d talked for almost an hour before finally giving in to sleep that morning. They’d covered just about everything Hannibal had thought but now he wasn’t so sure they’d done it in enough depth, not when Face was looking at him like that.

 

“But if I’d been more aware in showers...”

 

“Face – that was me. Cast your mind back and you know it was me. I pushed for that, I was the one who _needed_ that. If anyone’s to blame it’s me.” All of its own volition, Hannibal’s mind jumped back to that last mission in Iraq. The IED that one of their returning jeeps had triggered, Face had been jogging along the side of the road, rifle in hand, brining a message up to Hannibal at the front. He could see it all now, the blast that turned the black sky orange and Face’s body, tossed like a rag doll, up into the air. Hannibal had watched in horrified silence as it spun around and around before plummeting downwards into the blackness and that’s when he’d sprung to life.

 

He’d known without a shadow of a doubt that the lifeless body he’d seen in the air had been Face, he’d been watching his progress along the column of vehicles just before the device went up, and now he ran to where he’d seen it falling, his head telling him very calmly that no one, _no one_ could survive that. But then he’d seen him illuminated by the fires, laid on the ground, the trailing branches of a willow reaching out to stroke his back and he’d sprinted to his side. By the time he’d got there, Face was already struggling up, his helmet, his body armour, designed to protect him from bullets, doing a reasonable enough job of protecting him from the impact, the willow cushioning his fall on the way back down.

 

Hannibal had insisted he go to medical anyway when they got back to base, and that’s when it was confirmed, some scratches, bruising, a sore neck, but otherwise he was fine. It had been a miracle that Face had survived at all, and Hannibal had wanted to prove it to himself, prove that his boy was still with him, he hadn’t been left to try and carry on all alone. It was that burning desire that had left a door open for Brown...

 

“I can’t stop it, you know...” Face muttered now, eyes on the interlaced fingers that hid the sphere. “It’s just random, goes off whenever it feels like it. I never have any warning.”

 

Hannibal froze as he suddenly realised that Face hadn’t worked it out yet, that he hadn’t realised that the orb was psychokinetically controlled, that despite everything he might think, he _was_ setting it off himself. “I know,” he answered soothingly, pressing a kiss to Face’s hair. “And we’ll get it sorted. Muldrake knows someone who can control it, so that’s where we’re going.”

 

“You trust him?”

 

“Muldrake?”

 

Face nodded and Hannibal sighed, turning away and handing Face his coffee. “I don’t think we have much choice right now but actually, yes, I do.”

 

Taking the coffee, Face dropped the orb down onto the bed. “And you’re sure you’re safe from it? Just like me?”

 

Hannibal held his eyes. “Positive.”

 

“Okay,” Face took a mouthful of coffee and then started pulling his jeans on. “Let’s do this then.”

 

In ten minutes they were ready to go and Face went down to open the doors of the garage while Hannibal stowed their things in the 4x4. He spotted movement to his right and looked over, seeing Muldrake talking with an auburn haired woman in a long tan coat on the porch of the old house. He watched for a minute and realised that they were actually arguing and then quickly turned away as the woman felt his eyes on her and glanced his way. Within a minute, Muldrake’s feet could be heard approaching and he looked up, seeing a sheepish smile creeping over his face as he came to help stake the doors open.

 

“That’s my partner,” he explained to Face, nodding back to where the woman still stood, her arms folded over her chest.

 

“She doesn’t look happy,” Face observed and Muldrake laughed.

 

“Yeah... You get used to that. You feeling better?”

 

Face flushed remembering his rudeness early that morning. “Yeah – and thanks, you know, for last night.”

 

“You’re welcome,” his hand clapped on Face’s shoulder. “Where’s the colonel? All set to go? We’ve a long drive ahead of us still.” 

 

___________________________________

 

The evening sky was turning pink, the bare branches of the trees stark, black silhouettes as Face reclined in the back of the car, his turn to take it easy as Hannibal took over the wheel. He wasn’t taking it easy, he hadn’t been for the last ten minutes and now he felt compelled to voice his reasons why. “You know,” he started almost conversationally, “there’s been a chopper keeping pace with us, eight o’clock, for the last ten minutes.”

 

Hannibal and Muldrake instantly ducked down to look out of the window in the direction that Face had indicated and sure enough, there it was. 

 

“It’s not a police heli,” Muldrake supplied, “but could be FBI, CIA, anyone really.”

 

“Very comforting,” Hannibal answered dryly.

 

They drove on in silence for another few minutes, each of them surreptitiously watching the chopper’s progress over the tops of the trees.

 

“Okay,” Hannibal finally announced. “Time to test how serious these boys are. Face, pack everything up, make sure we’re ready to run if we need to. Muldrake, you ready for some fresh air?”

 

Muldrake squinted at the sky, “Not really,” he muttered.

 

Hannibal drove another mile and then, without any warning or indication, swung off the road and onto a dirt track that led straight into the trees. Face was watching intently through the back window. “Here they come,” he reported, “closing fast.”     

 

A size eleven boot pressed right down on the accelerator and they all clung on as, yet again, the 4x4 bounced over rough terrain. Then the trees were right in front of them and Hannibal killed the lights as they bounced under the cover of the foliage, stopping long enough for Face to scramble out before revving up and weaving further into the darkness.

 

“Where’s he going?” Muldrake’s voice had lost its laconic drawl, “What’s he doing?”

 

“Having a little look, that’s all,” Hannibal informed him, swinging the nose of the car into a particularly dense thicket and killing the engine. “Give him a minute, he’ll soon be back.”

 

They sat in silence as the cooling engine ticked. Hannibal was staring straight through the back window into the darkness, his face calm and expressionless, Muldrake was finding it harder to wait so quietly. “You know if that chopper has infra-red then we’re screwed, don’t you?”

 

“It hasn’t,” Hannibal told him confidently.

 

“You saw? While you were driving you managed to get a good look at it did you?”

 

Hannibal shook his head and continued to stare into the blackness. “I didn’t, no, but Face did. There was no infra-red.”

 

For a second, Muldrake was just plain confused, and then he asked, “He told you this? When did he tell you? Did I miss something?”

 

“He didn’t tell me, that’s the whole point,” Hannibal explained patiently. “If he’d seen it, he’d have said. He didn’t, so there isn’t one.”

 

Muldrake sat back in his seat. “What if he forgot?”

 

Hannibal turned to him at that, his brow creased in confusion, “He wouldn’t.”

 

And Muldrake sighed. “Well, I’m sure glad that makes sense to you.”

 

They slid into silence and a few minutes had passed when Hannibal tensed slightly. “Here he comes,” he whispered and Muldrake squinted into the darkness, wondering what the hell Hannibal could see just as Face appeared at the rear door. He climbed in, flopping into the leather seats, breathing hard and smelling of outdoors.

 

“They’ve gone,” he reported smartly. “But they were definitely looking for us, obviously not expecting us to go off road like that.”

 

Hannibal nodded. “Backup?”

 

“Yeah, I reckon so. If we’re going to run for it we’d better go now.”

 

Instantly the engine flared into life and Hannibal backed it out of the bushes. “What’s the nearest town, Muldrake?” he asked as they started bouncing back towards the road, Muldrake consulted his map.

 

“Gillette.”

 

“Okay, we’ll stop there.”

 

Face sat back, seemingly happy with Hannibal’s decision, but Muldrake obviously wasn’t. “You sure?” he asked slowly. “You gonna take that sphere and a wanted man into a built up area?”

 

“Briefly, yes.”

 

“You sure that’s our best move, Colonel?”

 

Hannibal turned and smiled at him. “We’re going to dabble in a little grand theft auto, Agent Muldrake, and for that I always find the best places are those with plenty of choices.”

 

Face laughed and Muldrake nodded sagely, but all he could hear was his partner’s voice in his head asking him just what the hell he thought he was doing...

 

_________________________

 

Face took the risk of stocking up on a few outdoor necessities before he went to check out the available motors for ‘hire’. He had a sneaking suspicion that they might end up on foot at some point before they reached their destination, and if they did, he for one would feel better with some of the right kit. The carrying bags also helped him blend in, he reassured himself as he wandered down the line, a guy in a parking lot with his shopping wasn’t anything out of the ordinary after all.

 

He smiled when he finally saw what he’d been looking for and, stashing his bags behind the wheel of the nearest car, shouldered the door of the rental office open.

 

Fifteen minutes later he was out and putting his bags in the trunk. He’d had to do some serious scamming back there to get the car he wanted, but in the end it had all panned out perfectly. He had the keys to a nice shiny Chevrolet Tahoe, and the lady in the Avis office no longer had to worry about the contamination danger from the last customer to rent that car who was currently in the Tropical Diseases Ward of Campbell County Memorial. Everyone a winner.

 

It was dark now, he glanced at his watch, wondering if he had time to call for pizza before swinging back around and meeting Hannibal and Muldrake who were, hopefully, keeping the wolves from his door. He slammed the trunk and turned around, mind on pepperoni versus barbecue chicken and froze at the sight of the huge man, dressed all in black, who was blocking his way. He smiled, “Excuse me,” he asked so politely that Father David would have been proud of him. “But you’re blocking my way.”

 

The man didn’t move, didn’t speak, not unless you wanted to count the low growl that slipped from the back of his throat. Internally, Face sighed, he was so not in the mood for this, but on the outside he just stepped back, intent on getting in the passenger door and hopefully getting a quick getaway – it was only when he stood on someone else’s foot he realised that he and the silent-giant weren’t alone. He spun on the spot, putting his back to the trunk and eyed up his second adversary. The man was of oriental origins, and was standing a good foot lower than Face, a well fitted dark suit over his crisp white shirt, his eyes piercing into Face through the darkness.

 

“Good evening, Lieutenant Peck,” he said quietly. “I’m sure you know why I am here. Perhaps you could do us all a favour, and just hand it over quietly?”

 

Face pressed back into the trunk, surreptitiously testing how it would hold his weight and shone a beatific smile at his visitor. “This?” he asked innocently. “This what you mean?” As he hoped, two sets of eyes instantly honed in on the sphere that sat quietly in the palm of his hand and he took a deep breath in, steeled himself for his move and threw it straight up in the air.

 

Both men moved at once, stepping forward, eyes on the arcing silver ball, the first guy’s hands already up, reaching high above Face’s head, waiting to claim in when it fell down. Face didn’t give him the chance, leaning back on the trunk, he lifted both legs up off the ground and stamped out, his boots simultaneously connecting hard with two unprotected stomachs. Both men crumpled forwards and, feet back on the ground now, Face snatched the falling orb straight out of the air before reaching forward and slamming their heads together. They both went down, and wasting no more time, Face leapt over the biggest guy, clambering into the driver’s seat of the Tahoe and locking himself in before starting the engine and steaming forward just as at least one bullet slammed into the fender. He swore under his breath, but glanced up to see his adversaries standing staring after him and just floored the accelerator, knowing now that the pizza wasn’t going to happen just yet. 

 

_________________________

 

“You sure you’re alright?”

 

Face could feel Hannibal’s eyes on him as he navigated the Tahoe out of Gillette. “I’m fine,” he answered calmly, “I told you, they never even touched me.”   

 

Hannibal shook his head and turned to Muldrake. “So, who the hell were they, then?” he asked sharply but Muldrake only shrugged.

 

“No idea. Could be anyone, plenty of interest in this thing the world over. I know for a fact the Chinese want it.”

 

Hannibal turned back, but the look of barely suppressed anger was still on his face. Face knew only too well how he got when he felt that his boy had been threatened and waited silently for the rest, he didn’t have to wait long.

 

“They didn’t hurt you at all?” Hannibal asked sharply and Face reached out to touch his hand.

 

“John,” he hoped his voice was too low to carry to Muldrake, “they didn’t touch me, I’m fine. I promise you.”

 

But Hannibal only grunted and Face suppressed a smile, knowing that the old man had been a victim of his scams too often to completely trust him on this one. Instead, he changed the subject.

 

“So – what’s the plan? We gonna have to ditch this car as well now?”

 

He waited, knew that Muldrake, silent in the back, was deferring to Hannibal as well and heard the small sigh that escaped his man. “I suppose we have to,” Hannibal eventually conceded. “But first I’d rather check we weren’t being followed.”

 

“Nothing so far,” Face told him brightly.

 

“Skies are clear,” Muldrake confirmed and Face knew that, for now, the darkness was their friend. “How long until will get there?” Muldrake then asked, leaning forward over the two front seats and Face checked the say nav.

 

“Eight hours if we don’t stop,” he answered. “Can’t you just phone this guy we’re meeting and get him to meet us like – here? Now?”

 

Muldrake laughed although Face felt there was little humour in the sound. “He’s not the easiest person to get hold of,” he remarked dryly. “And time means something different to him than it does to us.”

 

Face mulled that over. “And why Salt Lake City?”

 

He could hear Muldrake shrugging. “Why not?”

 

Face gave up and instead turned his head to Hannibal. “You get hold of Murdock?”

 

Hannibal nodded. While Face had been out securing transport and essentials, he’d taken Muldrake and called Murdock from a payphone at the Bus depot, worried that his mobile might be used as a trace if he switched it on. The bus depot was still a risk, but he’d needed to let BA and Murdock know they were okay, and they’d needed to find if there’d been any news of the elusive Agent Brown.

 

“Well?” Face was on edge, keen to know that Brown wasn’t just a figment of his imagination but Hannibal’s sigh did nothing to soothe him.

 

“Not much,” he revealed reluctantly. “Brown’s a common name – and an even commoner alias. But...” he stopped.

 

“What?”

 

“There’s rumours of an agent gone rogue, chasing some lost artefact he’s been told to leave alone,” he shrugged and watched Face carefully. “Could be our guy.”

 

“Brown is really an Agent Purcell,” Muldrake informed them from the back. “He’s a real nut about space stuff, claims to have been abducted by aliens when he was a kid.”

 

Slowly, Hannibal turned and looked at him. “You knew this? Why didn’t you say anything?”

 

“You didn’t ask,” Muldrake replied evenly. “I didn’t know what your call was about.” Hannibal glared at him and he shrugged easily. “And anyway, it doesn’t matter, like I said, Brown isn’t going to come anyway near any of this mess.”

 

For a second longer, Hannibal held his eyes then he just shook his head slightly and turned back to the windshield.

 

“Might have been nice to say something, though,” Face muttered mutinously and Hannibal rested a warm hand onto his thigh, squeezing gently.

 

They slid into silence as the Tahoe ate up the asphalt in front of them.

 

___________________________________

 

They got to Casper in the dead of the night and Hannibal decided it was time to switch cars. Unsurprisingly, though, the car rental place was closed and so Face drove into a multi-storey as directed and sighed as Hannibal told them both to wait where they were while he went to get them a new ride.

 

“Hannibal...” he’d seen this coming ever since they’d left Gillette, “I don’t think that’s such a good idea, I’m your Procurements Officer don’t forget.”

 

“Yeah?” Hannibal climbed out of the car, Face following and meeting him in the shadows of the concrete pillars. “And how do you think I got my hands on stuff before I had you?”

 

“I’m not disputing your ability to acquire anything you want,” Face said softly, stepping into Hannibal’s space. “I just don’t think we should split up on this.”

 

Hannibal sighed gently and stepped in, his hand snaking around Face’s hip to rest at the small of his back. “Face,” he whispered, “sending you off alone in Gillette was a mistake, one that almost took you from me again, I’m not going to do that here.”

 

Face huffed in annoyance, “I _told_ you, they never touched me!”

 

“I know,” Hannibal’s fingers slipped up the back of his t-shirt and gently stroked. “But they won’t be idiot enough to underestimate you twice, baby, they’ll just stick a bullet in your head from across the street and be done with it, and I can’t risk that happening.” Face stared at him, his expression fatalistic, he hadn’t actually considered that. “You stay here with Muldrake,” Hannibal continued, “he’s the only one with a weapon. I’ll get a car and come back for you. Okay?”

 

There was a moment’s silence before Face’s sigh gave Hannibal his acceptance. His own fingers then reached forward and unconsciously gripped the hem of Hannibal’s t-shirt. “And what if they decide to go for you?” he asked, “What then?”

 

“They won’t,” Hannibal’s reply was instantaneous. “You’re the one with the prize, not me.”

 

Face’s attention was brought back to the orb still nestled in his pocket, he realised now that it had been starting to buzz, but had fallen silent again; he wondered if maybe it was losing power, needed new batteries or something...

 

“Okay,” he said reluctantly. “But I don’t like it.”

 

“You don’t have to,” Hannibal shot back, pressing a kiss to his lips, “you just have to do it.”

 

Face huffed a laugh and with a quick squeeze of his wrist, Hannibal turned and left and Face’s fingers were left empty, the comforting softness of Hannibal’s t-shirt already a memory.

 

__________________________

 

Hannibal headed back to the car rental place, deciding that, if he was going to lift a car off the streets, then taking a rental would be about as victimless as possible. He wasn’t sure if Face needed to know that he was perfectly proficient in hotwiring a car, but then he supposed that the cat would be out of the bag once he turned up in an obviously stolen vehicle. He just hoped that they had enough time to do what they needed to do before they were pulled over by the police...

 

As much as they had a plan of action now, and Muldrake was convinced that this mystery friend of his would take the sphere and keep it from doing any more harm, what came after was a huge black-hole of doubt. Face was still wanted in connection with nine homicides, and while there might have been little concrete evidence linking him to the crimes, there was certainly enough circumstantial evidence to make sure that he was at the very least, taken into custody. And then of course, Hannibal was no longer squeaky clean in any of this, their story of the kidnap from Heart Butte wouldn’t stand up to much scrutiny at all, and then he, and McArdle, would have some very serious explaining to do – the kind of explaining that often led to a demotion, or worse.

 

But he couldn’t think of that now. They had to get rid of this sphere before it could kill anyone else, and  they had to stay ahead of the police, the CIA and now, these men who had caught up with Face in Gillette. Once they’d done that, then they’d just have to see how the rest played out.

 

Hannibal’s musings had brought him to the rental lot and he walked along the line, making sure to keep out of the way of the single CCTV camera. His eyes fell on a Chevrolet Impala and, with a last quick glance around, he made his move.

 

It all went off without a hitch, and the car had a tank of gas that was three quarters full already, and even better, the keys in the glove compartment. Hannibal made his way back to the multi-story, but then froze, eyes drifting up to the third floor where he’d left Face and Muldrake, and the unmistakable orange glow of flames he could see flickering in the darkness. He left the car on the ground floor, and made his way up the vehicle ramps in silence, sticking to the shadows and wishing for a gun. He didn’t see a soul, could hear nothing, not until he finally made it to the third floor and crept forward, sheltering behind the parked cars, the harsh essence of burning assaulting his eyes and nose.

 

It was no surprise to see that it was, in fact, their Tahoe which was lighting up the whole floor with its flames. There were four dark silloheuttes standing around it, men in suits, it appeared and Hannibal wondered just which of their many adversaries the men belonged to – probably not the police he guessed. More to the point though, was what had happened to the occupants of the car...? Hannibal had slipped into work mode the second he’d seen the orange glow, but his heart was a little slow in catching up and was currently howling in his chest over the possibility that Face was still in the vehicle – if so, then he was dead, no doubt about it.     

 

He watched for a moment longer, unsure what to do, wondering where Face and Muldrake would have gone if they had managed to escape, when a sound behind him made him start. It had been a footfall on the concrete, he was sure of it, only audible due to a momentary lapse in the crackling and popping coming from the car. He tensed and focussed everything he had behind him, knowing that reacting too quickly may earn him a bullet, while reacting too slowly could very well have the same effect.

 

Then there was another sound, a breath in the darkness that had his heart pounding hard in his ribs, and a breathed, “Boss...” that he’d know anywhere. He spun on his heels as Face and Muldrake crept toward him, Face’s expression grim and tense. “I hope you got us a new ride,” he whispered, “our old one’s off the road...”

 

Hannibal found his hand in the darkness and gripped it tightly. “Are you alright? Both of you?”

 

Face just nodded and tugged Hannibal away. “Yeah. Come on, let’s go...”

 

They skirted the three floors in silence, bundling into the Impala as Hannibal forced himself to drive away at a sedate pace. He’d noticed that Face appeared to be limping as they’d quietly fled, and Muldrake had a hand wrapped over his chest, but both men were lucid and mobile so he wasn’t overly worried about any of that. They drove in silence until they’d cleared the town limits and then Hannibal allowed himself to relax a tiny fraction as Face finally peeled his eyes away from the back window.

 

“So,” he said, forcing his voice into slow and calm. “What the fuck happened, kid?”

 

Face’s sigh was audible in the cramped confines of the car, and both he and Muldrake smelt of burning rubber. “They came in a van,” he reported slowly. “I’d been keeping watch over the side, so we knew they were coming. They pulled up, opened the back door and they had a fucking RPG in the back, took the car out just like that, I guess they thought we were still in it.”

 

“And you weren’t?” Even through the anxiety that made him ask, Hannibal knew it was a stupid question.

 

“We went over the side,” Muldrake continued from the back. “GI Joe here thought it was a good idea, but I think I bust a rib when I landed.”

 

“We only went down one level,” Face muttered. “Better than getting fried in the car, right?”

 

“What’s wrong with your leg?” Hannibal asked him, not interested in the building squabble.

 

“Landed funny,” Face reached down to massage his knee. “It’s only a twist, it’ll be fine.”

 

“So who were they?” Hannibal asked, not sure whether to watch the skies or the road behind them for signs of being trailed, and again it was Muldrake that answered.

 

“Not CIA for sure,” he said, leaning forward between the rear seats. “It looked like our Chinese associate from Gillette, a little pissed about being left behind and with all his friends this time.”

 

Hannibal didn’t answer, he wasn’t sure he even could around all the tension in his jaw.

 

“You think we should ditch the car?” Face asked him softly. “Make the rest of the trip on foot?”

 

It was a conundrum, one that Hannibal had been mulling over himself already. They were still six hours from Salt Lake City if they followed the major routes, turning off may make them harder to find, but would add hours to the trip, hours they might not have. But trying to make it on foot, without the necessary kit... he felt they’d stand out far too much once daylight came. “We’re not equipped for a covert march,” he eventually answered. “And I don’t know what time we’d make, you with a busted knee and Muldrake holding his ribs.”

 

Face slid into silence and Hannibal hoped that the kid wasn’t sulking about the reference to his knee, was about to say as much, when Face’s quiet voice broke into his thoughts again. “The ball went off again, back there in the garage.”

 

Hannibal shot him a look. “When?”

 

“Just when we went over the edge onto the floor below. I just hope no one was camping out in their car down there...”

 

Hannibal’s eyes found Muldrake in the mirror. “You okay?”

 

“I wasn’t close, we’d split up and I’d gone over the north wall, Face the east,” he shrugged and Hannibal went back to the road.

 

“Okay, well, we’ll just have to see what happens,” he told Face firmly. “It’s just a shame that it didn’t go off a little closer to the guys who are actually trying to kill us.”

 

“They’d be ten percenters anyway,” Muldrake reported from the back. “Anyone who-”

 

He was suddenly cut off as the whole car was filled with dazzling lights from the front. Hannibal had no choice but to jump on the brakes and they skidded to a halt, their whole world filled with nothing but white.

 

“Your gun!” Face yelled, his hand blindly reaching into the back, “Give me your gun!”

 

“Don’t even try it, Lieutenant Peck!” an amplified voice suddenly boomed out, making the inside of the car vibrate with the volume. “Throw the weapon out of the window, get out of the car and get on the ground. I’m sure you all know the drill.”

 

Face still couldn’t see anything but he turned his head in Hannibal’s direction. “Boss?”

 

Hannibal’s sigh was audible. “Do it,” he whispered and after only a moment’s pause, Muldrake’s gun went clattering out of the window, closely followed by the sounds of three doors clicking open as the occupants followed their instructions. 

 

_____________________________________

 

Face lifted his head slightly as he heard footsteps approaching, picking out the silhouette of a pair of legs as they came his way.

 

“Head down, arms behind your back,” a voice growled and he frowned, weighing up his options. He could probably take this guy out no problem, despite his growl it was obvious that he was nervous, maybe didn’t do a lot of this so Face knew he had a good chance. But what then? He briefly wondered how many guns were trained on him from outside the circle of light – realised there could be dozens, so instead did as he was told, meekly lowering his head. Hannibal’s words from way back drifted into his mind, telling him that the most important thing to do if you were taken by an enemy was to stay alive until you could escape, save the heroics until they were a solid reality.

 

This was a far from novel experience for him, unfortunately, and he knew the sense in those words, so he gritted his teeth against the pain in his shoulders as his hands were cuffed behind his back and forced his heart rate to slow, his breathing to deepen and his senses to stay on full alert. He was going to get out of this, whatever the hell it was, get Hannibal and Muldrake out too, and then reclaim whatever scraps of his life that he could. That thought soothed him, even as a hood was dragged over his head and he was roughly yanked to his feet.

 

There were many voices around him, and the sounds of vehicle engines and feet. He doubted this was the work of their Chinese associates from before who he assumed were sifting through the wreckage of the Tahoe searching for the orb rather than ambushing them on the highway. He was walked forward, hands on both his arms, until his shins connected smartly with the step of a van and he was bundled into the back, shoved and pushed until he was resting up against the cool metal walls. The doors slammed shut and it went even darker behind the hood, but he knew he wasn’t alone, could hear the tell tale shuffling and breaths of another person and wondered if it were Hannibal.

 

“What time’s the trolley due?” he quipped loudly as the engine roared into life. “I’ll have a double espresso and a Baby Ruth for starters.” He didn’t get an answer, or even hear the snigger or the sigh that Hannibal would have made at his words, but he did get a boot in the ribs which fucking hurt, so he settled on trying to breathe through the pain and saved anymore efforts at communication for later. 

 

They drove in silence for what felt like about an hour and a half, certainly his hands and his butt were numb by the time the engine shut off and the van rattled to a halt. It had barely stopped when the doors were opened and hands were on him again, dragging him out into cold, fresh air and he just went along with it, his limbs too numb to be of much use anyway.

 

They didn’t walk far, he guessed by the way that only one set of hands now gripped him and the echoed footsteps he could hear all around him that they were inside, a long, narrow corridor probably. He turned at the ominous creak of a heavy door opening to his left, then he was walked through the doorway and shoved into a chair, his hands unlocked then locked again to the sides of the back rest. He shuffled around, trying to get comfortable, testing the tightness of the cuffs on his wrists then there were footsteps behind him and the hood was gone, leaving him blinking frantically against the glare of the overhead lights.

 

No one said a word. Slowly his retinas adjusted to the sudden explosion of light and he made out other, blurry shapes around the room. With a huge surge of relief he spied Hannibal on the chair next to his, not quite close enough to touch but alive and looking just about how Face knew he himself looked. And then there was Muldrake, on the seat next to Hannibal, also managing to look fairly unruffled by the whole ordeal. Face let his eyes meet Hannibal’s just for one brief second and knew that the message he was sending with his own eyes was exactly the one he read in Hannibal’s as well. They were on the same page here for certain; play the game, watch and listen and make a break for it as soon as the opportunity arose.

 

A cough from the far side of the room had Face’s attention spinning that way, blinking through the residual blurring in his vision and then narrowing his eyes as he took in the expensively tailored suit, the stupid Aviators and  the smug expression on the face he was just itching to punch. “Brown...” he muttered through gritted teeth, “or should I say, Purcell?” Purcell didn’t twitch, just kept on staring at him with that annoying smile on his face. “Decided to crawl out and join the party at last have you?”

 

“Nice to see you as well, Lieutenant,” he smirked. “You enjoying your vacation?”

 

Face twitched, desperate to be out of his seat and committing an act of violence, but instead just took deep breath and smiled the most serene smile he could manage. “Fuck off, you ass hole,” he said sweetly instead.

 

Purcell scowled and slowly took his glasses off in what he obviously hoped was an intimidating manner. “You need to watch your mouth, soldier. You don’t understand just what an honour you’ve been given here.”

 

“An honour?” in his peripheral vision, Face could see Hannibal leaning forward, also desperate to get at Purcell, “What? Sending me off on your stupid errand with a fucking death machine in my pocket? Yeah, Purcell, thanks _so_ much for that.”

 

Purcell stalked towards him, his pale eyes obviously annoyed. “You think if I’d just wanted a stupid fucking _mule_ , would I have gone to all the time and effort I did in choosing you? You think I’m not perfectly capable of getting that ball in or out of any country I want at, any time I want?” He shook his head, “Wise up, Lieutenant. I know Smith is the brains of your little club, but I’d always had Baracus down as the stupid one – you not worked it out yet?”

 

“Agent Purcell,” Hannibal spoke up as Face found himself lost for words and all eyes swivelled to the Colonel and his obviously furious expression. “Are we under arrest here? Because if we aren’t then I would seriously consider unfastening these cuffs and letting us go before you get yourself so deep into this stupid shit that you’ll never be able to get out of it again.”

 

Purcell stalked forward into the gap between Hannibal and Face, glowering at Hannibal and pointing his Aviators at him in the most pathetically threatening way he could manage. “Butt out, Smith,” he growled. “This is nothing to do with you – and your fucking annoying interfering has made my life very difficult indeed! You should have stayed out of the way and let things take their course – what was the matter? Your bent dick couldn’t survive a week without coming up Peck’s hole?”

 

Purcell never knew what hit him, but it was actually Face’s chair. Face had been trying to decide if his legs had recovered enough to hold his weight when Purcell’s foul insult took the decision out of his hands. Even though it was still cuffed to his wrists, he was upright and swinging it around, crashing it over the CIA man’s head before anyone else knew what was going on.

 

Hannibal reacted instantly, getting to his own feet and swinging his own chair, using it as a weapon to take out two of the other agents in the room even as Face had already turned to the man on the door who had been the quickest in getting his gun out. The room descended into chaos, Face, with one ear on the grunts and thumps coming from behind him that meant Hannibal was still fighting, crashed a chair leg down onto the extended arm of the agent with the gun, wincing at the resounding gunshot that filled the air. A few more well aimed blows and the gun was on the floor, Face diving after it even as he heard Purcell yelling something unintelligible over the melee.

 

His hands were still cuffed to various chair parts, but Face managed to get his fingers on the gun, turning around and pointing it at where he thought Purcell might be just as he as he finally made out what the yells actually were; his eyes opened wide and everybody stopped, even Hannibal who was still using his own chair leg like a medieval staff.

 

“I _will_ do it, you fuckers!” Purcell was breathing heavily and bleeding from at least three places on his head and face. “I swear to you, drop those weapons or he gets another – in the head this time.”

 

Muldrake was still in his chair, his pale face a mask of pain as red blood steadily bloomed wider and darker on his shoulder. Face never moved an inch, kept his gun pointing right between Purcell’s eyes and waited for Hannibal to make the call. He could nail the bastard he knew that for sure, and he knew Hannibal would as well. The question was, how fast was Purcell? Would Muldrake lose his head at the same time? And what about the only two other Agents still standing? Face couldn’t shift his eyes from Purcell even for a second to see if they were armed, but he knew that Hannibal would already know, so he waited and trusted.

 

The sigh told him the result before the words did.

 

“Stand down, Lieutenant.” For a moment no one moved, Face kept his eyes on Purcell, knew the arrogant bastard was scared, contemplated doing it anyway, just popping that bullet right between the nasty little watery eyes... “Face...” But he didn’t – he never would. He drew it out though, made sure he looked Purcell in the eye long enough to make him think he was bucking Hannibal’s order, make him sweat, and then he flicked the safety on and skidded the gun across the room and into an empty corner.

 

The second that the gun was gone, the room sprang back into life. More men flooded in, grabbing Face, grabbing Hannibal and manhandling them back into new seats, this time cuffing wrists _and_ ankles to the chair. Face thought that if they were trying to make their prisoners more secure then they probably had little clue what they were doing, but he was too busy keeping up his eye contact with Purcell to really pay much attention. The fucker was rattled, that was for sure and Face was intent on keeping him that way.

 

He didn’t move until his prisoners were securely restrained once more and then he stalked over, his Aviators in his hand but Face was savagely pleased to see that the arms were all bent. He seemed an awful lot braver all of a sudden and the second that he was in reaching distance, he let rip with a vicious backhand that caught Face full on, spinning his head around and splitting his lip. “Don’t,” he hissed, close enough that Face could smell the sweat of fear on him, “you ever try anything like that again, you punk.”

 

Face just rolled with it though and came back smiling, ignoring the blood trickling down his chin. “Are you supposed to be intimidating me here, Purcell? ‘Cause really, I’ve seen girl scouts with cookies scarier than you.”

 

The retort seemed to snap whatever was left of Purcell’s temper and he let fly with blow after blow, Hannibal forced to look on in silence, stoically cataloguing every bruise and cut until the Agent managed to reel himself back under control. Face, meanwhile, despite the bleeding and the swelling that was rapidly swallowing his features remained belligerent. His blood was up and his desire to pound Purcell into the dirt was clouding his common sense; he already knew what he was going to say next, just as soon as he checked for broken teeth, a nice comment about Purcell’s mother’s hobbies, just to keep things ticking over nicely, but then he felt it – that tell tale buzzing against his thigh and he froze.

 

“Yeah,” Purcell was breathing heavily. “You finally learnt your lesson?”

 

Face didn’t answer, despite what Hannibal had told him, he was not about to let that damn ball go off in the same room as his lover, or Muldrake for that matter, as tempting as it might be to watch Purcell fall down dead in front of him. He hung his head and got his breath, letting the ringing in his head slowly subside as he watched blood drip onto his jeans. He tuned it all out, the pain and the inane prattling, and instead just concentrated on the ball, breathing deeply as he felt it, trying to decide if it was calming or just getting worse. Purcell was still going on at him, but the ball was slowing down, Face was sure of that now, he wondered again about the batteries and then held his breath as it steadied and steadied and then... stopped. He let out the breath and turned back to the others, listening to the end of the conversation which had now switched between Hannibal and Purcell.

 

“Whatever happens to us,” Hannibal was saying, his eyes narrowed and deadly. “There are people who will catch up with you and make this right. And you better believe that.”

 

Purcell just shrugged. “Whatever. Once I get that little ball working right, anyone can do what they want and I’ll swat them like the annoying flies that they are.” He smiled at Hannibal, the effect of which was ruined by his blood-stained face and hair, before turning slowly back to Face. “Which brings us back to you...”

 

Face met his eye. “Take the fucking thing,” he muttered around his fat lip. “Let’s not forget I never wanted it. Just take it and leave us the fuck alone.”

 

For a moment, Purcell just looked at him, and then shook his head, slowly and dripping in condescension. “Looks like I am going to have to draw you a picture here, Peck, aren’t I?” Face shot a quick look over at Hannibal who was watching him with an expression so wary that Face began to feel very foolish indeed, and very worried about what the hell it was he’d missed; Purcell’s obvious glee was not helping either.

 

“Like I said before, I didn’t need a mule here, I could transport my stuff on my own. What I needed,” he leaned in, close enough that Face had to hold back the urge to spit blood into his face, “was a test subject.”

 

The room fell into silence. Face looked at Purcell evenly, his mind starting to piece things together. “What, _exactly_ are you saying?” he asked quietly, and Purcell laughed.

 

“Jesus, Peck!” he exclaimed, “I _am_ going to have to get you some crayons!”

 

“Just tell me, you dick.”

 

Purcell sobered and leaned in again, his strange eyes dancing in obvious joy. “I’m saying, what I wanted was a _driver_ for the thing. Someone who would control it, make it do what it was created to do. And you, my little lab rat, have been more than I ever hoped for.”

 

Face ignored his look of dripping glee and thought about that. “You saying I killed those people myself?” he asked quietly and Purcell nodded.

 

“It’s psycho-kinetically controlled,” he paused. “You want a dictionary?”

 

“No, I don’t, you fucking pygalgia. Do you?” Purcell just blinked at him as Face thought over his words. He’d killed those people? _He_ had? Not the orb, just him? He glanced at Hannibal who was watching him with such agony in his expression that he suddenly realised how very, very late to the party he was on this. His eyes then flicked to Muldrake, who appeared to be barely hanging onto consciousness, but even he had obviously known this before. Face turned back to Purcell. “No,” he said evenly, “I didn’t.”        

 

There was a pause and Purcell’s grin faltered. “What? Of course you did. Psycho-kinetic means-”

 

“I know what it means,” Face interrupted, “and I didn’t do it. That thing goes off on its own.”

 

“It goes off with your emotions!” Purcell barked. “You. You controlled it, you did it!”

 

Face just shook his head, finished with that argument for now and more than happy with his own conclusion. Yes, he could see what Purcell was driving at, but no, he hadn’t killed any of those people, hadn’t wanted to, hadn’t meant to, it had been the orb – whether it fed off him or not – he’d done nothing. He looked calmly upwards, squinting at Purcell through a swollen eye and waited.

 

Purcell stared at him, completely at a loss as to how the conversation had gone, but then he shrugged it off, none of it mattered now anyway, what mattered now was what came next... “Well, we’ll see,” he snapped, stalking to the back of the room. “There’s more we need to do, it’s reacted better to you than any other test subject we’ve ever had, and so we need to try and fine tune that, make it target what you want it to, when you want it to.”

 

Face held his eyes, “No.”

 

“Sorry?”

 

“You heard me.”

 

There was a pause, followed by Purcell’s stilted laugh. “I am sorry, you know, Lieutenant, if I gave you the impression that you had a _choice_ in any of this.”

 

Face shrugged. “Answer’s still no.”

 

“There was never any question! This is an order!”

 

“I don’t take orders from you,” Face told him smoothly. “I take orders from the Army,” he nodded his head Hannibal’s way. “From him.”

 

Purcell slid his eyes over to Hannibal and Face’s heart started beating just that little bit harder as he realised he might just have made a _faux pas_.

 

“And you’ll order him?” Purcell asked Hannibal who didn’t even bother shaking his head.

 

“You even have to ask?”

 

Purcell stopped, thinking. He turned back to Face. “You’ll do it, or he dies.”

 

Face looked at him, something unpleasantly like fear roiling in his stomach, but he made sure that his expression was carefully blank. “Still no.”

 

That had been unexpected, and Purcell was getting angry again. “You think I’m joking?” he shouted. “You think I won’t?”

 

“You do,” Face answered quietly, “and I’ll kill you. I promise you that. And I still won’t test your orb.”

 

Purcell snatched a handgun off one of the guards at the door and stalked over to Hannibal, pressing the barrel to his forehead. “You’ve got ten seconds to agree. Nine...”

 

Face’s pulse surged in barely controlled panic, but he kept his expression and voice calm as he  shrugged, “Okay, you got me, fine I’ll do it.”

 

The gun never moved. “I don’t. Believe. You. Eight. Smith – if you want to see tomorrow you’d better get one of those orders going pretty fucking fast!” Face’s mouth was dry, he couldn’t believe they’d got into this position so quickly. Where had he gone wrong? He’d played right into Purcell’s hands in this for sure.

 

“Face!” Hannibal’s voice, loud and steady despite the gun on his forehead, grabbed his attention and their eyes met, Face’s pleading for some kind of hint as to where to go next. “You don’t get involved,” Hannibal told him. “You understand me? That’s an order, you don’t play their games, you don’t test this orb.”

 

But Face just stared as he desperately turned those words around in his head, trying to find the hidden meaning in them, the escape plan that he just couldn’t see. 

 

“What!” Purcell, however, was less than amused. “What the fuck do you think I am doing here?” he yelled, forcing Hannibal’s head backwards with the pressure of the barrel against his skin. “I’m not kidding you!”

 

Face was lost, he couldn’t think straight, in his pocket the orb had started up with its cold, gentle, buzzing and that just distracted him even more.

 

“Sometimes you need to look at the wider picture here,” Hannibal was still talking, and Face looked back at him, wondering if that was a code word he should know but then he saw tears in those wonderful blue eyes and he realised – Hannibal was _serious_. “You can’t let this thing get out, Face,” he continued, “imagine what it would do...”

 

“Shut up!” Purcell yelled, looking just about ready to blow.

 

But Hannibal ignored him. “You hear me, kid? This is bigger than either of us.”

 

“Get him out of here!” Purcell burst out. “Get him the fuck out of my hearing!”

 

It was obvious that he’d realised that using Hannibal as a bargaining tool had back-fired spectacularly and Face could only stare, as Hannibal continued with his pep talk, even as his restraints were unfastened and he was bodily dragged from the room. He winked, just before he vanished and Face was left wondering if that had been the plan all along, and that it was his way of getting out of the hole that Face had dug them into, saving them both to fight another day, but now there were alone and Purcell’s gun was on the sweating and clammy Muldrake, and the orb was still buzzing at Face’s side.

 

“Right,” Purcell muttered, still seething at being out-manoeuvred by Hannibal. “Let’s try again. Ten...” Face just stared. “Nine...”

 

Then, outside in the narrow hallway there was shouting, and the sounds of a struggle, more like a fight, and Face’s heart kicked up yet another gear as he realised that Hannibal had made his move. Purcell was rooted to the spot, his gun still at Muldrake’s head, staring at the closed door in shock while Face started writhing against his cuffs, desperate to get loose and help. The struggle outside went on, shouts for help and more feet, Face yanked impotently at his cuffs and then everything stopped with the bark of a gun. One shot, two, three, and silence followed.

 

_No._


	3. Chapter 3

_Outside in the narrow hallway there was shouting, and the sounds of a struggle, more like a fight, and Face’s heart kicked up yet another gear as he realised that Hannibal had made his move. Purcell was rooted to the spot, his gun still at Muldrake’s head, staring at the closed door in shock while Face started writhing against his cuffs, desperate to get loose and help. The struggle outside went on, shouts for help and more feet, Face yanked impotently at his cuffs and then everything stopped with the bark of a gun. One shot, two, three, and silence followed._

_No._

 

Face desperately tried to work out what the fuck that meant, how it could mean anything other than the totally unthinkable. His eyes locked onto Purcell who stared back, fear etched right across his face. The door opened, they both swung to look and one of the agents who’d dragged Hannibal out appeared there, a fine mist of red blood splattered across his face, his eyes wary.

 

“Situation contained,” he muttered, not quite meeting Purcell’s stare.

 

Purcell swallowed audibly before asking, “Smith?”

 

There was a dull rushing in Face’s ears as he waited for the response to that.

 

“He tried to escape. We had no choice.”

 

_No, no, no._

 

_No._

 

“Eliminated?”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

And that’s when everything in Face’s world just narrowed down into a blinding white pinprick of light, red hot and agonising and enough to short circuit everything else in his head.

 

He was on his feet, the chair almost disintegrating in the full force of his anger, then cuffs fell off the wooden legs and he swung what was left of it at the guard, smashing it into pieces as he freed his hands and leapt for Purcell, intent on nothing more than squeezing the life right out of him.

 

The door behind him opened, however, and more and more men poured in, piling on top of him, holding him down, their weight crushing him as his anger built and built. Far too late he was aware of it, the buzzing at his hip, trapped under his body, that was so fierce it was painful and then came the pulse, strong enough to hear this time, strong enough to clear the bodies from his back as that’s all they were now and Face looked up, his anger swallowed by the orb, his stunned eyes taking in the death all around him... six men, maybe eight, all dead and Muldrake, slumped in his seat, his skin almost white. But still Purcell stood. Like the devil himself he was the only one left standing in the room of death, laughing, laughing so hard he had to lean against the wall.

 

“Yes!” he was saying. “Yes, yes! I knew it, I knew you were the one, oh, fucking hell – did you _see_ that??? Fucking AWESOME!”

 

And Face slumped to the floor, finally realising far, _far_ too late just how much of a pawn he really was – how much they’d all been. And now - what was the point in fighting anymore?

 

___________________________

 

Face sat on the floor of his barred cell, tray of untouched food in the corner, sheets and blankets piled up on the rough bed at his side. There was no sound at all, Purcell had ordered him taken here, locked in and left when it became clear that there would be no further point to the agent’s ‘experimentation’ just yet, and he’d sank straight to the floor, staring at nothing and trying hard to wrap his head around the full horror of what had transpired.

 

It was hard to think though, something inside him was weeping and screaming like a baby, drowning out all semblance of rational thought and he battled against it, knowing that there was a time for that, a time to be consumed by that absolute misery, but until then he needed to fight to keep some control of his mind.

 

He hadn’t cried. At first he’d been too angry, then too shocked, then just numb. Even when they’d finally hauled him out and his wide eyes had stared at the bloom of blood on the wall of the hallway, spread out like the most exotic flower; the wide, smeared trail that led all the way out of the door, evidence of a body simply dragged out of the way, even then he could only stare and wrestle with the reality of a life without Hannibal. It just seemed too painful to even contemplate, like if he admitted that it was true, he would simply turn to dust and crumble all over the ground.

 

He could do that, he knew he could, but not yet. First he had things he needed to do. Purcell for one. Thought of the man lit Face’s heart on fire with a hatred so strong he felt he was scorching from the inside out. Purcell was going to die, very soon and at Face’s hand, and that was an undeniable truth. Never in his entire life had Face known this seething desire to take another man’s life, but he knew that Purcell’s hours left in this world were now strictly limited. Hannibal had always told him that killing was a last resort, that there were always, always consequences to be carried, even if you were following a direct order. Well, he wasn’t taking an order this time, and the consequences, whatever they ended up being, were a scant price to pay for ending the life of this poor excuse for a man, the excuse that had destroyed every scrap of possible happiness that Face had spent all his life painstakingly scraping together.     

 

Then he needed to get Hannibal. There was no way on earth that he was going to let this man, this mountain of a presence and pure love of his life, finish his time on earth in a shallow unmarked grave in this corner of wherever the fuck they were. He’d find him, if he had to kill every single miserable person he came across until he got his answer, then he arrange for something better, something far more befitting to the god-damned hero the man was.

 

Murdock and BA were next. Face doubted he’d be able to find them, doubted he’d even get away with his life, but he could call them, maybe just leave a voice mail, let them know they were thought of, let them know the truth, let them know they were loved.

 

And then there was the orb.

 

Slowly, he reached into his pocket and drew it out, looking at the whirls and marks as if he’d never seen them before, fresh eyes and fresh fingers as he trailed their silvery tattoos. He’d never been interested in it before, not really. At first he hated what it represented, then he feared it. Then it was more of a grudging compliance with it, knowing he needed to be aware of what it could do if he had any hope of keeping innocents safe. But there were no innocents left, and now he felt he was starting to understand it. He could feel it all the time, no buzzing or rising to a pulse, but he could feel it just _there_ , waiting for him, waiting to see what they could do together. He’d never been responsible for any of those deaths whilst he was on his own with it, he was confident about that, for the simple reason that he’d never wanted any of them. But now...

 

When the orb had killed the guards who’d been restraining him, he’d felt a flash of victory, tempered only by Muldrake’s death and fact that Purcell was still standing there. But he’d felt something else as well, a connection, a thin thread of communication pass between him and the ball, and he suddenly began to understand. As inanimate as it was, it had been trying to please him, trying to read from his emotions when he wanted it to kill because he’d never given it any clearer orders otherwise. But now that was all set to change. It was no longer his enemy, it was his ally and deep in his heart he knew that the assumption about people being ‘safe’ from it was crap; they had only been safe because no one really understood how it worked.

 

Since that moment, however, Face had understood, and now he was going to use it to kill Purcell and find Hannibal. And if anyone else got in his way, then he would get it to kill them too – because now Face was the one in control.     

 

____________________________________

 

It was barely light. Purcell in his excitement to get going and make Face unlock the keys to the ball had arranged for him to be pulled from his cell and dragged back to the same room as before just as the pinky dawn light was filtering through the clouds.

 

Everything had been cleaned up now, Muldrake’s body, all those guards, even the bloodstained corridor was as good as new, and Purcell was in a very buoyant mood.

 

_Good_ , Face though as he was shoved into another chair, no restraints this time, just a guard with a Taser, _let him be happy. It’ll make the descent into hell that much more horrific_.

 

Purcell smiled at him, “Sleep well?” Face just stared and the agent shrugged. “Whatever. I don’t really care, I just need you to show me what this baby can do.”

 

There was still no response, Face was simply watching him and trying to imagine what expression he would have on his face when he was dead.

 

“Ready when you are, Peck.”

 

He wondered if death would improve his looks.

 

The silence stretched on, the orb was still; the two of them knew the time wasn’t right yet, but Purcell wasn’t privy to that and was getting impatient. “What?” he spat when Face just carried on looking at him. “You need some incentive or something?”

 

Face shrugged. “Not really. I’ve got all the incentive I need. I _am_ going to kill you, just not quite yet.”

 

Amused, Purcell lifted an eyebrow. “Really? You are, are you?” he laughed. “Not with that thing you won’t. I’m a ten percenter!” Face was glad he was smug, knew it wouldn’t last.

 

They waited, but still there was nothing, Face knew that the time just wasn’t right.

 

Eventually, Purcell couldn’t wait any longer, he scrubbed a hand through his hair and turned to the guard with the Taser. “You watch him. Any funny business, shock him, you got that?” the guard nodded and Purcell turned back to Face. “And you, don’t be getting any smart ideas, Reynolds here is a ten percenter too, so he’s safe.”  

 

Face didn’t answer, he didn’t care what Purcell thought, he was just waiting for his time.

 

______________________

 

It was a far less buoyant Purcell who returned hours later only to find the room exactly as he had left it. He swore softly under his breath as he stalked across the floor and leaned on the wall with his arms folded watching Face carefully as Face stared back. Then Purcell sighed. “Is this because of Smith?” he asked maliciously. “Have you, I don’t know, gone into some grief induced coma or something, just ‘cause your little bum boy is dead?”

 

Face just looked at him.

 

“You shouldn’t worry about it, Peck. I know plenty of guys who would like a piece of your ass. Could probably get you one in now if you wanted.”

 

Face looked away.

 

“Okay... So... Maybe you need some company? How about we get Captain Murdock round to play? I bet there’s loads of good games we can play with him – maybe some that might make you a little more cooperative?”

 

Despite himself, Face’s eyes flashed back to Purcell’s at the threat to Murdock and the orb against his thigh woke up. “Don’t even think about it...” he muttered lethally.

 

Purcell however, only laughed, thrilled he’d managed at last to break through Face’s funk. “Oh, no, I think we could have tonnes of fun with the good pilot!” He leant forward, in an almost conspiratorial manner, “How long do you think we could play with him before he’s back in that nut house for good, hey? You gonna like watching that? Me and the guys here taking his head to pieces, bit by bit?”

 

Pressing his lips together, Face just concentrated on the cold vibrations coming from his orb.

 

“Or maybe he likes a cock up his ass as well as you? Maybe we could line up a party for him? You could watch, the whole gang-bang, see them rip him wide open? You like the thought of that?”

 

Face’s eyes were on the wall, but his thought were on the orb. He could feel it filling up, the cold turning warm, it’s invisible fingers stretching out to touch him and warn him to be patient...

 

“Or what about Baracus?” Purcell interjected, clearly on a roll now. “He likes to think he’s a big tough guy. I wonder how big and tough he would be as we stripped his skin away, inch by inch. I guess he’d get to show all his muscles then though, hey?”

 

Purcell roared at his own joke, the guard joining in, but Face just sat, knowing their time was edging nearer and nearer, second by second by second and he wasn’t going to let Purcell force them into jumping the gun. 

 

There was another pause, Purcell had hoped that this would have been easier, once Peck knew he was on his own he should have opened up like a shy little flower, he should have been putty in Purcell’s hands. But the key was there, Purcell knew that, all he had to do was find it and Peck would be his. Then, he could teach Purcell how to master the orb himself, and then Peck would be redundant and Purcell could be his own master. Unstoppable.

 

“We can just keep going here you know, Peck,” he remarked conversationally. “I’ve done my homework on you. How about we haul Lieutenant Sosa’s pretty little rack out here? Now she’s a piece of meat I could really get into, and I mean _really_ get into, you know?” He shook his head. “I bet she has no idea how close she came to saving you from a lifetime of depravity... Is that why you turned into a cock whore? ‘Cause she dumped you? Or was it the only way that Smith would keep you around?”

 

Face just kept on breathing. It was coming, closer and closer, he could feel it. That bastard was on his very last minutes alive.

 

“Or maybe we’ll make it really personal, hey?” Purcell was back to leaning in, his pale eyes glittering malevolently, determined that he was going to get a reaction out of Face if it was the last thing he did – without even considering that it might just be. “What about I get that fat old priest shipped up here?” Face met his stare. “Yeah? You interested in that? Was he the one that gave you your first taste of nice, hard cock? Or will he damn you to hell when he sees how much you like it? Maybe he’d like to try it himself? How many goes you think he could take before his sad old heart finally gives up?”     

 

It still wasn’t ready, Face could feel it slowly uncoiling, like a snake ready to strike, but it was close enough to work he could tell and Face had had enough of the filth spilling out of the bastard’s mouth. Father David had been Face’s father in more ways than one, and comments like that could not be tolerated. He looked up at Purcell who was still leaning over him and reached out to the orb, gathering everything it had and pulling it forward, dragging all of that energy together into a spear, one that was pulsing and throbbing and itching to get into Purcell’s heart.  “You want to see what it can do?” he asked quietly, holding Purcell’s nasty, washed out eyes. “Well how about this then...”

 

Purcell never had chance to reply before the spike of energy hit him right in the chest, knocking him back into the wall and emptying his now solidified lungs of air. His eyes opened wide in horror and locked onto Face’s as Face lashed out again, his body not moving an inch but his mind driving the invisible spear back into Purcell again and again.

 

Face could feel that it was working, it was like there was one of those health bars from Murdock’s Xbox games right above Purcell’s head, currently sliding from green to orange. In the end his ‘ten percent’ protection would do him no good – it was, after all only an armour, not an immunity. And now it was almost over, the health bar was in the red and sliding rapidly down. The guard stood in abject horror, his Taser forgotten as Purcell writhed in agony on the end of the invisible energy spear. Face stopped, just for a moment, just to let their eyes connect and he hoped that the agent’s ears were still working. “I told you I’d kill you,” he said softly, and then finished it off, driving the spear right up and into Purcell’s brain.

 

He was dead before he hit the floor; Face just hoped that bastard thought all of this had been worth his ultimate end. Face slowly got to his feet and turned to the guard, there was still plenty of juice left in the orb, but Face had other plans, wondered how this guy wanted to play the game. He didn’t need much prompting, one look from Face and the guy dropped the Taser and held his hands up either side of his head.

 

“Don’t...” he whispered, the panic clear in his voice. “I can help you, I can help you get out.”

 

Face nodded, that would do him. “Where did they take Colonel Smith?” he asked and the guard frantically pointed towards the door.

 

“The stables! I can show you!”

 

“Well,” his expression grim, Face gestured in front of him, “let’s go.”

 

____________________________

 

The walk across the compound was more or less without incident. Face had his hands held loosely in front of him, making it appear that he was handcuffed, while the guard walked ever so slightly ahead, just where Face could see him. At one point, another guard had arrived, calling them over, drawing his hand gun, and Face had killed him with one tiny spike of power, it was lucky that he’d not been a ten percenter, that might have attracted a little too much attention.

 

At first Face thought they were heading back to the adapted stable block where he himself had been held over night, but at the last moment, they turned off and he realised that there was another building just behind it, identical in design and obviously adapted to hold another row of around ten cells. The guard took out a key and let them both in, pulling the door shut behind him and then sprawling unconscious on the ground as Face knocked him out cold. Whatever Face was going to find in this dark and silent building, he had no desire to have his emotions witnessed.

 

He bent and took the keys, straightening to look at the row of dark cells, looming cold and silent and, with a pounding heart, Face took his first step forward and prepared himself for what he was about to see.

 

The first cell was empty. It was designed exactly the same as the one he’d been held in, bucket in the corner, bed on one side, gap under the bars to push a tray of food under.  Face realised for the first time, what a large operation this was that Purcell had been involved in; this was no random CIA agent gone rogue over a shiny bauble, these man in black patrolling the compound weren’t agents at all. Whatever this was, it was being bankrolled by someone else, and, with a cold shiver, Face wondered just how many people had died in the attempted mastery of his sphere.

 

The orb itself was humming quietly in his pocket all the while, like an anxious dog waiting to do its master’s bidding. Face touched it gently, with his fingers and his mind as he prowled on to the next cell, it would just have to be patient for now, there would be time aplenty later on for death and destruction, at this moment, Face had to hold himself together and face his biggest fear.

 

Cell after cell was empty and Face’s heart was pounding even harder now, more through fear that Hannibal _wouldn’t_ be here than he would, but then he was at the last one and he took a deep breath, forced himself to step around the corner and look.

 

It wasn’t as bad as he’d feared, there wasn’t as much blood. There were two cots in the cell, Muldrake on one and a still and silent Hannibal Smith on the other. The cell door was locked which seemed odd since they were dead but Face steadied his shaking hands and slowly slid the key into the lock. It grated on the way in, the sound making Face shudder, and then, as he swung the door open, eyes on the blanket covering his love’s long frame, he jumped out of his skin as blue eyes suddenly flicked open and Hannibal’s head rose off the cot.

 

Face leapt back, he couldn’t help himself, his emotions were running too high, and he clattered into the cell door, swinging it back to clang against the bars, the sound resounding noisily up and down the dark space. The disturbance forced a moan from Muldrake’s lips which only sent Face even further back, his shoulders pressed to the cold metal, his heart pounding furiously.

 

“It’s okay, it’s okay...” Hannibal was scrambling out of the tangled blankets, his eyes on Face, his hands in a calming gesture. “It’s okay, baby, I’m fine, see? I’m fine...” He was at Face’s side now and paused, seeing the wild look in his eyes and possibly hearing the intense buzzing from the sphere. His hands reached out, not quite touching, not yet as Face continued to stare at him, but he made sure they had eye contact. “Are you listening sweetheart? They conned you, they conned us both. They didn’t shoot me, just some other poor bastard – they wanted to see what it would do to you, how it would make you react. I’m fine, baby... okay? I’m fine.”

 

Face stared, but then everything in his vision blurred and he realised the truth of what his senses were telling him. He knew that was Hannibal’s voice, roughened from sleep, he knew those big, comforting hands that were reaching for him, he knew the smell of his man’s sweat, and then nothing else mattered, the how, the why, the what next – none of that was important. Instead he just threw himself forward, shivering with primeval emotion when Hannibal’s arms wrapped around his shoulders pulling him close, binding his own arms around Hannibal’s back, jamming his nose into the juncture of neck and shoulder and just saying the words that were going round and around his head – “I thought you were dead...”

 

“I know,” Hannibal’s voice was rougher still and those big hands were everywhere, smoothing and touching and soothing, “I know, baby, I’m so sorry, there was nothing I could do, it was their plan all along, split us up and make you think I was dead, they thought you'd fall to pieces... I’m sorry, I’m so sorry you had to go through that.”

 

A buzz at his hip suddenly pulled Face back to the predicament they were still in and he drew back a little, letting Hannibal’s hands frame his cheeks, his own shaking hands grabbing solid, strong forearms. “I’m okay...” he whispered, embarrassed now of his reaction. “I’m fine. We need to get the fuck out of here.”

 

Hannibal watched him warily, released him reluctantly and then kissed him, hard and quick and then it was all gone, all the emotion, all the feelings – they could be examined again at a better time, but for now, they were still in a mess and they still had a job to do.

 

“Muldrake’s lost a lot of blood,” Hannibal said, going to the man on the cot and checking the makeshift dressing over his bullet wound. “He needs medical help and fast.”

 

“He was in the room when the sphere went off...” Face muttered coming to stand at Hannibal’s shoulder.

 

“Looks like he’s a ten percenter as well, then. Here, help me get him up.”

 

They were never going to be able to carry him without a stretcher, the wound on his shoulder was too fragile to stand much movement and he couldn’t take losing anymore blood. Hannibal had already loosened the screws that fastened the top of the cot to the frame, and now all they had to do was take them all off and they had a stretcher, ready to go.

 

“You got an exit in mind?” Hannibal asked carefully once they had moved out of the cell and back to the main door of the old stable block.

 

Face looked up at him, his expression guilty. His exit plan had involved killing anyone he saw... not very elegant and certainly not one that Hannibal would approve of. He shrugged, “We need a vehicle, we still need to get to Salt Lake City.”

 

“We need to get Muldrake some help as well. And we need a gun.”

 

The sphere buzzed indignantly in Face’s pocket. “We don’t need a gun,” Face muttered, cracking the door a little to check the coast was clear. “We can handle anyone who threatens us, we’ve got it down to fine art now – you should have seen us kill that bastard Purcell...”

 

For a long moment there was silence and Face glanced back, worried where Hannibal had gone, but he was still right there, his brow creased into a confused frown.

 

“What?” Face asked him.

 

“We?”

 

There was another long pause.

 

“You and me,” Face finally answered, “You know that. Come on, let’s go...”

 

He was out the door then, Muldrake’s stretcher in his hands so Hannibal had no choice but to follow him.

 

As soon as they rounded the first corner, they stopped again, dropping to the shadows and watching the chaos around them.

 

“They must have found Purcell’s body...” Face muttered, eyes flicking over the panicked exodus, “there’ll be no transport left for us.”

 

“Shit...” Hannibal rubbed his face with a filthy hand. “We need to get a vehicle, we need to get out of here. He needs a doctor and we need to get that orb to safety!”

 

“I know all that...” Face snapped. 

 

“You’re gonna have to get us some transport.”

 

Face sighed, they didn’t want to do this, waste their energy on meaningless lives when there were so many people still out to get them... but it was a means to an end.

 

“Alright...” he scrambled to his feet mind already planning his move, and before Hannibal could say another word, he’d gone.

 

In the end it was too easy. The first guard who saw Face coming lifted his gun and that was all the prompting they needed to cut through everyone. There were the obligatory ten percenters there as well, and Face could almost feel their smugness evaporating as the energy just focussed in on them for a moment longer, enough to kill them almost as fast as the others now – they were certainly getting better at this.

 

Face chose a Chevy SUV and was back with Hannibal in minutes, flattening the seats down in the rear even as Hannibal was popping the trunk ready to slide the stretcher in. They worked in silence, each knowing the other so well that words weren’t needed, but Face noticed the way that Hannibal kept on looking at him and he couldn’t keep the frown off his face. It was only the constant presence of the orb at his hip, vibrating gently all the time, that soothed him and allowed them to get going before he demanded that the colonel tell him what the fuck was the matter.

 

No one else stopped them. They were either too busy trying to get away themselves, or had seen enough dead bodies on the site to even contemplate a run-in with the orb. Within minutes they were bouncing out of a dirt road that proclaimed it was the property of Davison Chicken Farms, and back onto the highway.

 

“Where are we?” Face shouted, throwing a map off the dash back to where Hannibal was crouched next to Muldrake. “You find us on this?”

 

There was nothing but silence for five minutes while Hannibal checked and double checked their position, then he made his announcement. “Okay... keep on this road and eventually we’re gonna hit I-80. Then we can follow that all the way to Salt Lake City. Gonna take about seven hours...”

 

“Fine,” Face told him, eyes glued to the road but Hannibal only sighed and clambered up into the front.

 

“Thing is though,” he said and Face could hear the strain in his voice. “I don’t think we’ve got seven hours.”

 

Face glanced over at him. “What d’you mean?”

 

There was no answer for a moment and just as Face was about to ask again, Hannibal’s voice, tired and worn down sounded quietly in the front of the car. “It’s only a matter of time before someone else who wants that sphere tracks us down, it’s far too popular for my tastes.”

 

“It’s fine,” Face’s eyes were still on the road. “I told you, we killed Purcell,” he felt Hannibal’s eyes on him. “ _I_ killed Purcell and no one else knows where we are.”

 

“And what about the guy who’s been bankrolling Purcell’s research? Surely you don’t think that the slimeball worked alone?”

 

“No. So what are you saying? You think we should skip Salt Lake City and this contact of Muldrake’s?”

 

Again the answer was a long time coming, and when it came it sounded like it had been very deliberately crafted. “No, I’m not saying that at all, I’m saying I wish we could be there now, get rid of this thing for good.”

 

They slid back into silence, but again Face knew he was being carefully watched which for some reason really bugged him.

 

“I think you’re wrong,” he eventually added over the roar of the engine. “I think if we keep my sphere, then we’ve got a bargaining tool, and something to protect ourselves with when the next set of bozos turn up looking for it.”

 

“Something to kill them with you mean?” Hannibal asked him quietly and Face laughed.

 

“Of course! We’re soldiers Hannibal, it’s what we do best. What the hell is wrong with that?”

 

Hannibal didn’t answer the question; he couldn’t when he wasn’t sure just who Face was referring to with his ‘we’. Instead he just said, “There’s a hospital at Rawlins with an Emergency Room, we’ll call there, drop Muldrake off.”

 

Face didn’t answer, just sped on.

 

_____________________________________

 

It was a good two hour drive to Rawlins, and Hannibal spent it all in the rear of the SUV doing his best to make sure that Muldrake remained stable and the bleeding didn’t start up again. Being in the back also meant that he didn’t have to talk to Face either and in the present circumstances, that was something which Hannibal found a decided relief.

 

They drove slowly up to the drop off bay for the Emergency Room, then Hannibal scrambled out of the side door with a hissed, “Wait here,” thrown in Face’s direction. The SUV’s arrival had already caught the attention of a porter over by the doors and Hannibal waved at him as he opened up the back of the car. “Hey! Bring a gurney, I need a little help here!”

 

It was late afternoon and the Emergency Room had slipped into a lull before the expected busy night, but within seconds it was a hive of activity once more. Muldrake’s stretcher was eased out and slid onto the waiting gurney. He had an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth before Hannibal had even closed the back doors of the car and stats were being read out into the still afternoon air.

 

“He a friend of yours?” a slim dark haired orderly in pale blue scrubs came up to Hannibal with a clipboard and he nodded, steering her away from the hubbub around the gurney.

 

Hannibal had taken the liberty of helping himself to Muldrake’s wallet a few miles back, smiling at the apt alias the FBI man had chosen. He handed it over now, keeping his voice low and steady. “We’re FBI, working undercover. The agent here has been shot in the line of duty. Can I leave it to you to contact his partner? Her details are all listed in there,” he nodded at the wallet. “We have to leave now, it’s dangerous for us to be here.”

 

The orderly nodded gamely and then swallowed, forcing herself to look up and meet Hannibal’s eye. “I’m sure that’s all fine sir,” her voice shook only a little. “But in situations like this, anyone who accompanies a gunshot patient needs to speak to a Deputy...”

 

Hannibal narrowed his eyes and allowed just the right amount of annoyance to creep into his voice. “I appreciate your devotion to duty,” his voice was a low growl, “but the men that did this are tracking us as we speak; are you sure you want them turning up here? You sure you’re going to be the one that makes that decision?”

 

The orderly paled and shook her head just a little.

 

“Exactly. So, do everyone a favour and call the agent listed as his next of kin, she’ll explain everything and fill in as many forms as you want, okay?” this time there was the slightest of nods. “Okay, keep up the good work.” He turned then, intent on climbing straight back into the SUV but stuttered to a halt as his eyes fell on the empty parking bay behind him. “Fucking hell...” he muttered, stalking straight past where Face should have been and making his way to the parking lot instead, hoping that the kid had just moved out of the way. He was disappointed though, three laps of the lot proved that the car, and Face were nowhere to be found and Hannibal sank down onto a wooden bench to try and figure out what the hell he should do next.

 

Face had been acting strangely, that much was for sure, and Hannibal was fairly certain that it was the long term exposure to that damn sphere that was doing it. He had absolutely no idea at all as to where the kid had gone, but didn’t think for one second that it was Salt Lake City to finish the job off alone. What had he been thinking of, leaving him unsupervised like that? Even if it was just for a moment. Face was obviously traumatised by this whole damn mess, and Hannibal knew how much he was ruled by his turbulent emotions. He swore again and scrubbed a hand over his exhausted features. There was nothing else for it now, he’d have to call Murdock and BA, see if they could get over here, give him a hand trying to track Face down before someone put a bullet in him... But where to start... this was a needle in a world full of haystacks.

 

He pushed tiredly to his feet, realising that without his mobile phone or even a single cent to his name, even calling the guys would be difficult, and then the rumbling of an engine caught his ear. He looked up and his heart thumped uncomfortably in his chest as he saw the SUV slowly making its way across the lot towards him. He swallowed hard, averting his eyes as it finally pulled up next to him, and then climbed in, relief igniting his anger the second that Face pulled away again.

 

“Where the _fuck_ have you been?” he hissed, his hands curled into tight fists and Face looked round at him, his own eyes wide in surprise.

 

“Gas,” he answered simply. “We needed gas – I told you that.”

 

“You didn’t say you would go without me.”       

 

“No – but I thought you’d realise. You didn’t need me and I couldn’t wait there for you, it was an ambulance bay.”

 

“You should have said,” the growl was still in Hannibal’s voice and it was beginning to get on Face’s nerves.

 

“Why?” he shot back. “Why should I have said? You don’t usually mind me having initiative, it’s usually part of the job, tidy up all the things you miss out!”

 

“Not today!”

 

“Why not today?” Face’s voice was rising, “You suddenly stopped trusting me?”

 

Silence.

 

A burst of mocking laughter fell onto Hannibal’s ears, making him cringe at the hurt he could hear behind it. “You have got to be kidding me...” but there was no humour at all in Face’s tone. “Hannibal – what the fuck is all this about?”

 

“Nothing,” Hannibal snapped. “Just keep driving.”

 

“Keep driving?” Hannibal could imagine Face shaking his head at that. “You are such a piece of work... don’t think I don’t know...”

 

The car fell into silence once more, steadily eating up the markers at the side of the road bringing them closer and closer to the end minute by minute but eventually Hannibal had to ask. “What, Face? What do you know?”

 

The empty laugh was back again. “That you’re fucking jealous.”

 

An icy fist closed around Hannibal’s heart and he slowly turned to look at Face’s tense profile. “Jealous?” he asked carefully, “Of what?”

 

“Us!” the fist tightened. “Because now I have the orb and with it we can do anything we want, and for once you’re not the great Hannibal Smith! For once I get to have my turn out of the shadows and people get to see what we can do and we’re gonna be the best, people are gonna fear us all over the damn world and _you_ can’t stomach that!”

 

“Face?” Hannibal swallowed hard but waited until he knew he had the other man’s attention.

 

“What?!”

 

“What’s that noise?”

 

He knew what it was of course, it was the orb, louder than Hannibal had ever heard it before, winding itself up to strike, more powerful even than Face’s anger. Face it seemed however, hadn’t even noticed it – until now.

 

“Nothing,” he snapped and the buzzing subsided slowly until nothing could be heard over the droning of the car’s engine. “There’s food in the back,” he added peevishly and Hannibal slowly reached around for a burrito, taking a bite and chewing deliberately even though he couldn’t taste anything around the bile in his throat. 

 

_________________________________

 

Conversation was limited, but they swapped drivers two hours out of Salt Lake City when Face was starting to have trouble keeping his eyes open and then slid back into silence. The Lincoln Highway was quiet, the miles were counting down and darkness was back and Hannibal was starting to think that they might just make it.

 

Face was dozing in the seat next to him and he took the opportunity to try and take stock of their current situation. He had no idea what the day was, he had no idea exactly how wanted they were by the expected agencies, the police for example, without even starting to consider the FBI, CIA, Army and countless international security and terror organisations. He had no idea just how much of a hold that damn orb had got on his boy, and no idea how he was going to get it away. He was clueless as to how he’d be able to clear Face’s name of all those homicides, or whether they’d have a job to go back to even if he did. They were meeting a man he didn’t know, in a place roughly one hundred miles square with no money or method of communication to their names; he came to the conclusion that basically, they were screwed.

 

He needed to get rid of that orb though, that was the only thought that was clear in his head. At first he’d been keen to do it only because of the danger it posed to the rest of the world – now however it was far more personal. Now it was threatening Face, and there was no way that Hannibal would allow that to happen. He would get that damn ball off his boy if he had to knock Face’s lights out and throw the cursed thing in the lake to do it.

 

A flash of light behind him caught his eye and he squinted into the darkness of the rear view mirror. There was nothing there, the highway behind them was empty and black, but Hannibal had been kept alive by his instincts far too many times to ignore them now. “Face,” Face was instantly awake at Hannibal’s hiss. “I think we’ve got company.”

 

They drove in silence, Face twisted in his seat staring out the back, Hannibal with his eyes flicking from windshield to mirror and back again.

 

“Put your foot down,” Face said quietly and Hannibal did, he knew that the kid hadn’t seen anything concrete either, but was obviously concerned enough to want to put as much distance between them and whatever else was there was possible. Their burst of speed however, made it clear that they were suspicious and that in turn forced their pursuers into making a move. Suddenly, the inside of the Chevy was filled with light from behind and a familiar black van surged forward slamming into the rear fender and almost forcing them off the road.

 

“Fucking hell,” Face muttered, bracing his hand on the dash, “it’s that fucking Chinese guy again!”

 

Hannibal dropped a gear and sped forward again, but the next thing they knew, the back window was exploding in a shower of glass. “Get down!” he yelled at Face as more gunshots sounded out in the night and Hannibal realised that they would be very lucky to be able to run all the way to Salt Lake City like this. “Keep your head down!” he yelled again, watching out of the corner of his eye as Face turned in his seat, trying to see what was going on behind them.

 

“They’re gonna shoot the for the tyres!” Face reported, “Sharp left, sharp left!”

 

Hannibal did, but it wasn’t quite enough, as with an almost deafening explosion, both driver’s side tyres burst out, throwing the car madly across the road. The engine cut out and with it the power steering but Hannibal continued to try and wrestle it straight on the road, even as he fumbled with the ignition key, hoping to bring it back to life.

 

It wasn’t to be, though, a glancing blow from a telegraph pole had the car plunging off road, bouncing and careering so wildly it ended up on its roof, its remaining wheels spinning sadly in the night air.

 

“Get out! Get out!” rough hands woke Hannibal from his stupor and he could see Face illuminated by the lights from the black van as he desperately tried to unclip Hannibal’s belt.

 

Hannibal, however, swatted him away. “Get going,” he muttered wincing at the pain lancing through his head. “It’s that fucking ball they want, not me, get the hell out of here!”

 

Face didn’t move, just carried on tugging at the belt until Hannibal crashed down on top on him, but then there were other hands roughly dragging them out into the scrub and the moment for escape had gone. They were manhandled out of the ruined car, forced to their knees and told to put their hands on their heads and then they were left, everyone retreating so that all they could see was the blinding headlamps shining in their eyes.

 

For a long minute there was nothing but silence and then a voice called out and Hannibal’s heart sank.

 

“Lieutenant Peck,” Face had been right, it was the Chinese guy. “You have proved a very difficult fish to catch.”

 

Hannibal braced himself for the smart answer he knew would be coming from Face, but instead there was nothing, nothing but an ominous, low buzzing.

 

“But now I think you hit the end of the road!” that was obviously a very funny joke as Hannibal heard more than one voice react in laughter as he and Face continued to kneel side by side in the dirt. “And now you have a choice,” the voice continued once the hilarity had died down. “You can either give me the weapon and I will show mercy, killing you and your colonel with a single bullet to the brain, or you can continue to be awkward. In that case I will simply shoot you in each limb and your stomach, take the orb myself and then leave you for the coyotes to finish off. What is it going to be, ‘Faceman’?”

 

Still Face didn’t answer and Hannibal risked a sideways glance at him, his heart thumping a little harder at what he saw. Face had his head bowed, a noticeable sheen of sweat was standing out on his face and his brow was furrowed in what looked like pain. “Kid?” Hannibal hissed, “You okay?” he was suddenly terrified that the crash or even a stray bullet had got to Face first.

 

“I can’t stop it...” Face hissed through gritted teeth, “It’s gonna go off, I can’t stop it...”

 

Hannibal glanced back towards the light where he could see restless movement across the beams.  “Let it then,” he whispered back, “it’s us or them here for sure,” but Face just shook his head.

 

“It’ll kill you...” the strain was clear in his voice and Hannibal forced out a flat laugh.

 

“I’m one of the lucky ten percent, remember,” he whispered back. “I’m safe, go for it, kid.”

 

“I’m bored of waiting Lieutenant!” the impatience was clear in their captor’s voice but neither of the threatened men were listening.

 

“No!” Face opened his eyes and Hannibal could see the terror in them. “It’s too powerful now, it doesn’t matter and it...” he tailed off, his eyes locked with Hannibal as the buzzing grew in intensity.

 

“It what?” Hannibal asked, although through the blackness in his gut he thought he already knew.

 

“It wants to kill you.”

 

“Okay! Time up!” the furious yell split the night open around them even as the buzzing from the sphere became so intense that Hannibal could feel it right through his body.

 

Face ripped his eyes from Hannibal’s and turned back to the lights, his hand going to his pocket even as a lone figure started making its way towards them both. “Here!” he yelled, the ball shining silver in his hand. “You want it? Be my fucking guest!” he threw it then, hard and straight towards the gathering at the front of the van and in the same move tackled Hannibal to the ground, laying full length on top of him, spreading his body as much as he could to blanket his love as the orb finally went off.

 

The pulse was so strong this time that he felt it try and lift him up, try and drag him away from Hannibal but he held on, clinging like a possum as the energy seared through every single organ at once. For a second he thought it was going to kill him too, but the pain was nothing really, a mild electric shock and then it was gone and everything was silent. He looked up, could see the slumped bodies in front of the head lamps and knew that his ten percent status hadn’t saved their Chinese friend in the end, and then he realised that Hannibal wasn’t moving beneath him.

 

He was up on his knees in a moment, shaking hands turning Hannibal over, his throat too dry to form the word that his lips were sounding over and over again. “John, John, John...” 

 

In the light from the glowing head lamps Face could see that Hannibal’s eyes were closed, he looked like he was sleeping peacefully but Face’s heart was just breaking in two. “Please,” he whispered, finding his voice at last, “please, John, don’t leave me, don’t leave me...”

 

His shaking fingers scrabbled unsuccessfully for a carotid pulse and then fluttered uncertainly over nose and mouth, trying to feel a breath. Panic was starting to set in now and Face dropped his ear to that broad, strong chest, desperately willing away his own thumping pulse to try and pick up the sound of that beloved heart that would tell him he hadn’t been abandoned by the one man who swore he wouldn’t.

 

He couldn’t hear anything though, between the thumping of his pulse and the roaring in his ears there was nothing and he felt tears spring to his eyes as he wondered if he should start chest compressions anyway, but then there was a subtle shift underneath him and as he held his breath, a heavy hand landed in his hair, stroking him roughly as a voice croaked out. “It’s okay. My boy. I’m here.”

 

Relief hit him with the force of an express train and Face just wrapped himself around that long body and sobbed.

 

_________________________________        

 

They slowly hauled themselves back together and killed the lights on the black van before it drew a police cruiser in off the highway. Face was quiet and subdued, his head bowed as he frisked the dead bodies for a set of ignition keys.

 

“Okay?” Hannibal was waiting for him by the van, his hand reaching out to cup the back of that bent head and Face nodded. “I just want this finished,” he muttered and Hannibal squeezed a little harder, kissing the top of his head.

 

“You and me both, kid. Let’s hit the road and find Muldrake’s mystery guy.”

 

Face didn’t move though and Hannibal turned back to find him staring at his feet, looking so lost and dejected that he thought his heart would break. “Sweetheart?” he prompted gently.

 

“I need to find the orb,” he whispered. “I can’t feel where it is and I... I don’t even want to touch it again.”

 

Hannibal sighed and pulled him in, pressing his head into his shoulder where he could always keep him safe. “It’s okay,” he whispered, big hands smoothing over broad shoulders, “I’ve put it in the back – you don’t have to touch it. Let’s just go.”

 

He felt Face shudder against him and then straighten up, meeting Hannibal’s eye with a muttered ‘Thanks’ before heading round to the driver’s side door. Hannibal let his eyes flick to the back of the van just the once before he too climbed in and the van roared to life.

 

They drove in silence, but the bench style seating in the front allowed Hannibal to press up close to Face as he drove, legs jammed together, one hand on a filthy jeans leg, just making sure that Face knew he wasn’t alone.

 

Dawn was rising as they cleared the city limits and he felt Face shift against him. “What do we do now, boss?”

 

“I have no idea,” Hannibal admitted, “I suppose we just drive.” Face didn’t answer, but he did drive.

 

They hadn’t gone much further, they were just coming up to the Veteran’s Memorial Highway when a police cruiser suddenly swung in behind them.

 

“Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me...” Face muttered, eyes on the rear view mirror as Hannibal sighed loudly.

 

“Pull over,” he instructed calmly , “but be ready to make a run for it.”

 

They pulled down the exit ramp and onto to the shoulder, Face turning off the engine as they watched the single patrol man climb slowly out of the car and make his way along the roadside to meet them.

 

He dropped his head into the car, resting his forearms on the open window and beaming a wide, toothy smile at the occupants. “Morning, gents,” he greeted them brightly. “You having a good day?”

 

Face kept his eyes fixed straight ahead while Hannibal returned the smile. “Yes, thank you, officer. Can we help you with something?”

 

For a minute there was no response. The patrolman let his eyes wander all over Hannibal, taking in his beaten and dishevelled appearance and obviously lingering on the smooth muscles standing out in his thighs. His smile never wavered, not even when Hannibal’s open expression switched into a glare, he stared his fill and then let his blue eyes flick over to Face. This time there was no denying the hunger in that look and Hannibal felt himself bristling, wishing for a gun and wondering what kind of ‘price’ they were going to be charged for their safe passage into town.

 

“Can we help you, Officer?” he pointedly asked again, his tone getting Face’s eyes off the road and finally noticing the way that the patrolman was checking out his groin.

 

“I’m sure you can...” the officer drawled, shaking his dark hair from his eyes and shining his brilliant smile on Hannibal. “But, regretfully, I’m not sure that now is the time for us to be indulging in such exciting pastimes, not if we want to get that orb out of the way before Purcell’s buddies arrive...”

 

Face instantly straightened. “You’re Muldrake’s friend?” he breathed. “A cop?”

 

The patrolman laughed. “’Friend’? Is that what the old fox called me?” he shook his head. “Well, I’m certainly not his enemy I suppose... and a cop?” he smiled at Face. “Why, handsome? You got a uniform kink or something?”

 

“The orb,” Hannibal interrupted loudly. “It’s in the back. You want me to get it out?”

 

That got him a shake of a dark head and an instant switch into seriousness. “No, not here. I’ll take you to my ship. You alright to follow me?”

 

Face nodded, “Sure.”

  


Suddenly the wide grin was back. “Excellent! Brains and beauty!” Face flushed. “I’m Jack by the way - and you,” Jack looked Face up and down once more, “are simply adorable when you’re blushing!”

 

Face’s flush deepened almost in line with Hannibal’s scowl and Jack wandered back to his car, his laughter trailing along behind him.

 

They didn’t drive for long. Within five minutes Jack pulled off into the grounds of Central Valley Water Reclamation Facility and climbed straight out of the car. “I’m moored over there,” he said, nodding at an empty patch of scrub land. “Been hanging around for days waiting for you to get here.”

 

“We’ve been busy,” Hannibal offered brusquely and Jack looked pointedly at their clothes and various injuries.

 

“So I see,” he grinned.

 

“There’s nothing there,” Face said, staring at  the empty scrub and wondering if Jack was as crazy as Murdock, but Jack just wandered over and picked up a handful of dirt.

 

“You sure sweet cheeks?” he asked and threw it in front of him, smiling at Face’s audible gasp when the sleek sides of a flying craft were briefly visible in the clouds of dust.

 

“It’s invisible?”

 

“Yep. It’s a Chula warship, last one left in existence. Pretty neat, hey? You want a ride?” Face didn’t answer, he was still staring where he knew the ship was, even though it had long since vanished once more, but Hannibal answered for him.

 

“No, he doesn’t,” he snapped holding his hand out to Jack. “He wants you to take this thing and fly away with it, so we never have to see it again.

 

Mention of the orb brought everyone’s attention away from the craft and both Jack and Face took a step in, staring at it in fascination.

 

“So that’s it, huh?” Jack bent in to get a closer look at it but still didn’t touch it. “It’s smaller than I thought it would be.”

 

“Are you going to take it?” Hannibal growled.

 

“Yeah, yeah...” Jack still stared at it, transfixed, “Let me just get a container for it.”

 

He turned on the spot and jogged over to the ship, vanishing inside it as if he had never even been there. Face, meanwhile, took another step closer. “You okay?” Hannibal asked him.

 

“Yeah...” his eyes were wide and fixed on the orb, and there was something about his expression that had Hannibal’s heart thumping again. 

 

“Another minute,” Hannibal told him gently, “and it’ll be gone for good.”

 

Hannibal had hoped he would comfort Face with his words, but instead a look of almost panic swept across his features. He licked his lips and edged forward a little, even as Hannibal felt his own fingers tightening on the etched silver surface. “I need to hold it once last time...” Face breathed and Hannibal felt his stomach twist.

 

“I don’t think it’s such a good idea,” he whispered.

 

“I need to,” Face implored. “You don’t understand – it was mine, it has to be me that lets it go.”

 

Hannibal paused, his eyes on Face’s desperate expression and he thought back over the words, _’It was mine,’_ Past tense. Face didn’t want this any more than he did, it would be okay, he trusted his boy – he handed it over.

 

The second the orb was back in Face’s palm his eyes fluttered shut and his fingers wrapped tightly around it. A long sigh left Face’s lips and the orb woke up, humming gently in the quiet morning air.

 

“Face,” this was Jack, all evidence of joviality gone from his expression, a clear, semi-sealed cylinder held out in his hand. “Face!” still Face didn’t move. Jack’s blue eyes clouded in annoyance and he threw a quick glance at Hannibal, “You might want to move out of range.”

 

Hannibal’s brows shot up, “He won’t set it off.”

 

“He might not have the choice, now move!”

 

Hannibal didn’t move though, he took a step in, ignoring Jack’s glare as he reached up and placed his hand on Face’s cheek. “Face...” he whispered. They waited a moment, both of them balanced on a knife edge and then Face’s eyes flickered open, cloudy and confused, they nevertheless settled on Hannibal’s face. “Put it in the tube kid,” Hannibal said gently, nodding at Jack’s canister. “It’s time to go home.”

 

Face blinked at him, then turned to Jack then looked back at Hannibal. The buzzing from the orb was getting louder, and it was clear that Jack was ready to bolt even if Hannibal wasn’t, then Face shook himself, like a dog coming in from the wet, turned and dropped the ball straight into the tube. Jack instantly sealed the lid and Hannibal let out his breath, pulling Face close and whispering, “Well done, baby,” right into his ear.   

 

“I’d better go,” Jack was still dressed as a patrolman but Hannibal wondered how they could ever have been fooled, he was obviously so much more. “This little minx has caused far too much trouble on this planet already.”

 

“Where will you take it?” Face asked, his eyes on the silent ball.

 

“Back where it came from. Someone will pay a lot for that I’m telling you.”

 

“You’re going to sell it?” Hannibal’s eyes were drawing together in anger and Jack faced him head on.

 

“I am yes, but where this comes from _everyone_ has them. Everyone, Hannibal, so don’t look at me like that, it won’t be the same as it’s been here.”

 

Hannibal looked hard at him. He certainly recognised a conman when he saw one, but what of it? Why shouldn’t the orb go back to the culture that created it? Surely they would be able to deal with it better than earth had? He nodded, reluctantly and Jack’s smile was back.

 

“I’ve got something for you two as well!” he reached into the pocket of his police jacket and pulled out a silver mini disc. “I took the liberty of helping myself to this when I was drifting through some CIA files the other day, thought you might like it in your possession rather than theirs.”

 

Face’s ears flushed red but he leaned forward and took the disc.

 

“And I wiped all their other copies as well – so you don’t need to worry about that.”

 

Hannibal nodded. “Thank you. We appreciate that.”

 

“No worries, I enjoyed watching it – hottest bit of action I’ve seen in a long while!”

 

Both Face and Hannibal looked up, their expressions identical and Jack laughed. “Don’t look at me like that! I had to check it, make sure it was the right one!”

 

“You didn’t have to watch it all,” Hannibal growled.

 

“Are you kidding me – once I popped I could not stop!”

 

Hannibal looked ready to thump him one, an action that Face did not think would help them get rid of the orb for good. Instead he placed a steadying hand on Hannibal’s arm and stepped forward, his right hand extended towards Jack. “Thank you for everything,” he said sincerely. “We appreciate it all.” They shook hands firmly, Jack’s dancing eyes boring right into Face’s.

 

“Thank _you_ ,” he replied, accepting Hannibal’s terse shake as well. “You’ve made what would have been a pretty boring shore leave into something much more – profitable!” he beamed and Face forced a smile back.

 

“Good. Well... if there’s ever anything we can do for you...”

 

Jack had stepped towards his craft, in fact, one leg and the canister were already embraced in the invisible field providing a very unsettling image of their pilot for the two watchers, but at Face’s words he stopped and turned slightly, eyes flicking from Face to Hannibal and back again. “Well, there is one thing...” he started.

 

“Name it.”

 

Jack’s eyes were back on Hannibal again. “I was just thinking, next time I’m in town... well, that disc really was _sooooo_ hot... Maybe I could pick up a live version? Maybe with a bit of audience participation?”

 

Hannibal’s growl was warning enough to get Jack leaping for his ship, but his laughter was clear even as the doors hissed sealed behind him. Within seconds the smooth purring of an alien engine could be heard and then, with a blast of hot air, it was gone.

 

Face and Hannibal stood next to the black van and the cruiser and just looked at each other. “Well,” Face said quietly, suddenly feeling every ache and pain and sleepless night. “What the fuck do we do now?”

 

Hannibal forced a tired smile at him and took hold of his fingers in his own, thinking that, right now, nothing would be as good as a long hot shower with his darling boy – but then he frowned, thinking back to what had started this whole nightmare off in the first place. 

 

He opened his mouth to answer Face’s question, but then the morning quiet was suddenly torn open by the thundering engines of helicopters looming up over the distant lake. Their eyes met, two pairs of tired, resigned eyes and Face tightened his grip on the fingers holding his. “Whatever happens now,” he whispered. “Thank you for everything and remember how much I love you.”

 

“As much as I love you,” Hannibal murmured back and they squeezed hard before letting go and turning, shoulder to shoulder, to face the oncoming choppers.

 

 

_________________________________

  

Hannibal sighed and looked out of the window across the parade ground. The collar of his shirt was tight after such a long time in BDUs and civvies, and his uniform somehow didn’t feel as ‘right’ as it usually did. His thoughts weren’t here anyway but he needed to do this, there was only so much that Russell could field for him, there was music here he had to face for himself.

 

But he just wanted to be with Face.

 

He hated this, hated being so far away from his boy, hated not knowing what the hell was going on with Face and what the CIA were doing with him. He had to trust though. They were in pretty deep shit here for sure, and all they could do was trust in the people around them and pray that no one decided it would be best to sell them down the river. He did trust Russ, and Wolf to a certain extent. McArdle too who had vouched for the CIA guy, Agent Tomkins, who had taken Face – as much as anyone ever could vouch for a spook though.

 

But Murdock and BA were around as well now, doubling the strength of their team and that was a comfort.

 

It had been two long, stressful days since the rather bizarre meeting they’d had with Muldrake’s ridiculous friend Jack and the arrival of the choppers over the lake. There had been three of them, all sleek, black and foreboding and he was just wondering if they should have made run for it when the first one touched down and a most unexpected figure jumped out. Face had visibly startled, his fingers wrapping around Hannibal’s arm. “That’s Murdock...” he’d shouted to Hannibal over the din of the choppers. “And BA!” It certainly had been BA, climbing very eagerly out of the chopper, a chopper that he’d obviously volunteered to get into in the first place.

 

“And McArdle!” Hannibal had added, pleased beyond belief to see the detective again.

 

“Who?” Face had shouted but then quickly swallowed his question as his eyes fell on the first person to alight from the second chopper, “Oh, fuck, it’s General Wilson...”

 

But Hannibal could read the expressions of the men coming towards them, backs bent against the downdraft, and he started to hope that maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t going to be a total and utter car crash.

 

“It’s okay, kid,” Hannibal had taken his arm out of Face’s grip and instead put a guiding hand on his back, pushing him towards Murdock. “It’s all going to be okay,” and then he just prayed that it actually would be.

 

But then they’d wanted to split them up, a horde of CIA agents had descended on Face and Hannibal had seen the flash of panic as those blue eyes flicked his way. In seconds chaos had erupted, Face was struggling to break free of the hands that held him, Murdock was yelling, BA threatening as he waded closer to his friend while Hannibal was swimming against the tide, his eyes locked on the fear he saw in Face’s expression. Wolf’s yell settled it all down, accompanied as it was with his demand that the agents ‘unhand that soldier’, they did and McArdle stepped forward and everyone tried again.

 

This time Face had been ‘invited’ to ride to Denver in one of the black choppers with Agent Tomkins. The fear was still there, but Hannibal watched carefully as Face locked it away and looked first at Wolf and then Hannibal, the two nods he’d received bolstering his own confidence in turn. Hannibal wanted he and Face to stay together, but his offer was rejected, Wolf said he needed him back in Fort Lewis, and it was McArdle again that had smoothed everything over, Hannibal feeling his hackles rising at another perceived threat to his boy.

 

It was finally arranged. McArdle would go with Face, Murdock too, and Hannibal had met Face’s blue eyes, waited for the infinitesimal nod and then added his own agreement. He was headed for Fort Lewis, BA at his side, and, as ever, Hannibal had found the corporal’s steady presence soothing. BA was also in almost constant text-contact with Murdock and so he knew that Face was as okay as he could be, that he was holding up well through his ‘debriefing’ and hadn’t vanished off the face of the earth.

 

Even so, it was a testing time. Hannibal knew Face well, knew him very well and knew that his boy would be needing him. His only hope was that if he played all the Army’s games, jumped through all of their blazing hoops, then they would be done with him all the sooner and he could get over to Face and be by his side.

 

At that, the door behind him opened and General Wilson’s secretary nodded at him to go on in. He took a deep breath, straightened his coat and walked straight and tall into the silent room.

 

________________________________

 

Face wondered if he were tired. It was a strange thought to have, but he couldn’t really remember sleeping in an age, and maybe tiredness would explain the disconnected feeling he had, the way that it felt as though he was walking on marshmallow.

 

He should be feeling happy, or at the very least  relieved, but he was too busy feeling – wrong – to manage a more positive emotion.

 

The CIA were done with him, and if that wasn’t something to be relieved about, then what the hell was? He’d suffered a moment’s panic when he heard that he was wanted for ‘debriefing’, and found himself bleakly wondering if he’d ever be seen alive again. It wasn’t like he was being spirited away in the middle of the night with a hood over his head, but it wasn’t until Hannibal had agreed, and he’d had the twin bodyguards of McArdle and Murdock assigned to him, that he’d felt the anxious knot in his chest subside just a touch. And even so, he’d remained on edge the whole time – Purcell had made it so he’d never trust another spook in his life ever again.

 

But now, after two days of solid interviews, he was done. So why didn’t he feel any better?

 

He closed his eyes in the back of the cab, aware of Murdock’s gaze on him, and tried to sort through his jumbled emotions. They were on their way to the Four Seasons Hotel; Murdock had told him, eyes wide with excitement, that they were being put up in a couple of suites, all courtesy of the CIA. Face had listened in silence, he was done with being freaked out by the current weirdness of his life and just nodded, only wanting to be with Hannibal.

 

“When’s the boss back?” he’d asked tiredly, stretching his legs as far as he could manage.

 

He could hear the sympathy in Murdock’s voice along with the answer, “Later tonight, hopefully,” but he only had the energy to nod again. “I’ll wait with you, until he gets in.” This time Face forced his eyes open and offered up a tired smile before it vanished and his eye lids slid closed once more.  

 

As soon as they got to the hotel and Murdock had shown Face all the really cool parts of the suite, he’d run himself a bath, tipped all the free bath foam into it and then slid into the warmth, the beer Murdock had brought in for him sitting untouched, dripping condensation into his water. He was tired, so, so tired, but he couldn’t settle, couldn’t get his thoughts to do what he wanted them to and he wanted to see Hannibal so badly it actually hurt, so he lay ramrod stiff in the cooling water and watched the Denver skyline as it woke up around him.

 

The last two days had been hard, but nothing like treatment that Face had expected. Instead of carting Face away, locking him up and throwing away the key, the steady stream of agents he’d spoken to over the past two days had only had questions about Purcell and the sphere, a few about Jack as well, and that, really, had been it.

 

The questions went round and around. Different people asking the same things in different rooms in a different manner and Face knew he was being tested, knew that they would keep on asking the same questions until they were happy that he’d told them all he knew. He was as honest as he could possibly be, he told them he had no idea that he could exert influence over the sphere, not until he met Purcell again, and that seemed to be accepted without question. He told them about the Chinese guy and the rocket launcher and they nodded sagely and produced a photo, told him the guy was called Gung Hu Zhang and his death was boost to the international war in smuggled weapons. He even admitted to various counts of grand theft auto, driving off from a gas station without paying and scamming the walking shop in Gillette out of a couple of hundred dollars of kit.

 

And it was all simply brushed off.

 

The only thing he didn’t mention – in fact he was never even asked about – was his relationship to Hannibal. The disc was safe, slipped to Murdock within seconds of their reunion, and Face was certainly not planning on reopening _that_ can of worms if he didn’t need to.

 

And then had come the strangest thing of all. Late this very afternoon, just as Face had been struggling to keep his eyes open, another man walked in. He was older than the others, must have been pushing sixty and screamed ‘spy!’ from the top of his grey hair to the toes of his shiny loafers. He sat down in front of Face and proceeded to apologise, on behalf of the CIA, for everything he’d been through at the hands of Purcell. He also explained that the deaths of those poor innocents had already been attributed to an allergic reaction to contaminated food and the appropriate investigations put into place. Face’s name had been removed from ever having been involved in anything to do with the suspected homicides in Montana and North Dakota and his record was as clean as it always had been – slightly cleaner in fact.

 

It was then that Face realised the chilling reality. These people were not interested in finding out any ‘truth’ of what had happened here; they were interested only in covering their tracks. The sphere was gone, they were happy with that outcome, Purcell too would not be missed. Gung Hu Zhang’s death appeared to be nothing more than an added bonus and the deaths of all those innocents could easily be explained away by a rare, but natural reaction. Face was appalled but he couldn’t think of anything else to say – the only reason he was still alive and had a life left to live was because he wasn’t a danger and it suited them.

 

Otherwise he would have had that hood over his head before he’d even had the chance to worry about it.  

 

Face blinked at him, his mind recoiling from what it was coming up with. “What about the compound in  Wyoming?” he asked, thinking of all those cells – and all those bodies...

 

“Burnt to the ground,” the grey suited man had told him, showing him a suitably convincing photograph. “Seems it was the headquarters of some weird cult,” he shrugged, “suicide pact you know.”

 

There was no answer to that, none at all; Face was getting his ‘get out of jail free’ card, but it just didn’t feel right...

 

He must have said at least part of that out loud, though as Mr. Grey Suit stood up, a little laugh leaving his thin lips. “Don’t be a fool, boy,” he sneered as he looked down at Face. “Purcell used you and he broke a shit load of rules in doing it. You get a clean slate and a pass back to your old life. We get your silence,” he held Face’s eyes for an ominous minute before adding brightly, “Everyone a winner.” He didn’t wait for an answer, just walked straight out and Face watched him go.

 

It was right after that they told him he was done.

 

So now here he was in a bath tub in a ridiculously over priced hotel suite in Denver, being told that all his memories of killer orbs and psycho agents, invisible space craft and lecherous aliens needed to disappear if he wanted to go back to having an ordinary life. The threat was there, he knew that, knew exactly what would happen if he didn’t keep up his end of the deal, a hit and run, a random street mugging gone wrong – but all he could think about was whether or not he actually _could_...

 

His beer was warm, his bath was cold and there was still no Hannibal, so he hauled himself out and dried off, eyes picking up every single bruise and mark on his body, his swollen knee, his blackened eye, his split lip and then hobbled into the main room wearing possibly the fluffiest bathrobe he had ever set eyes on and smiling wanly at the concerned glance Murdock threw his way. The pilot was instantly on the move, leaping to his feet and pulling Face over to the couch, making him comfortable with blankets and cushions before vanishing out into the hallway and returning with a heater trolley and a huge grin.

 

“Whatya in the mood for Face?” he asked excitedly, “I’ve got you Buffalo wings and mini cheeseburgers, Caesar salad and pastrami on rye, chicken noodle soup and prosciutto Panini, lemon tart, chocolate brownie, Ben and Jerry’s and lasagne!” Face just stared at him, lost in the whirlwind of words and Murdock frowned sympathetically at him. “Shall I put a bit of everything on a plate for you?” 

 

“Yeah,” Face leaned back into the plethora of cushions, his eyes feeling heavier by the moment, but his stomach growling at the smell coming from the heater; he wanted to ask Murdock not to mix the sweet and the savoury or to cover everything in noodle soup, but just didn’t have the energy.

 

They ate to the accompaniment of harmless chatter, or rather Murdock chattered and ate, while Face picked at his food and stared in silence at the muted TV. Afterwards, Murdock cleared away all the mess and pulled up Toy Story from the in-room TV menu. Face watched it mindlessly, only realising that he’d fallen asleep when he felt Murdock gently pulling him to his feet.

 

“C’mon buddy,” that soft drawl was almost hypnotic, “go to bed.”

 

“’M waiting for Hannibal...” Face murmured, but Murdock kept him walking towards the bedroom door.

 

“I know you are,” he soothed. “But you can wait for him in here, it’ll be cosier.”

 

Face wanted to object, he wanted to stay awake until he could sleep wrapped up with Hannibal but he was cold and his muscles ached and the bed looked so comfortable. He let Murdock lead him over and watched as his best friend in all the world pulled the covers back and helped him off with the bathrobe before gently pushing him into the sheets, pulling the duvet back to his chin and quietly settling himself down on the other side of the bed, back against the head board, feet crossed at the ankle.

 

“What you doing?” Face asked, his mouth rubbery, his eyelids drooping.

 

“Waiting for Hannibal with you,” Murdock replied easily and with the comforting warmth of Murdock’s eyes on him, Face fell asleep.

 

____________________________

 

He woke in the thick black of night to find himself all alone in the bedroom. He sat up, disorientated, fragmented thoughts and memories swirling through his mind and wondered what had woken him. A noise sounded from the main room and he held his breath, listening, realising that it was the outer door softly closing and he waited, expecting at any second to hear Hannibal’s deep voice calling a welcome, but there was nothing, and, his heart thudding anxiously now, Face silently slipped out of the bed and padded in his shorts to the door.

 

The lights in the main room were on, but dimmed and he stepped out, noting the muted TV, the abandoned heater unit and the distinct lack of Murdock. A movement over by the windows caught his eye and he turned, just as Hannibal put down his empty whisky tumbler and noticed him standing there – their eyes met and they just looked.

 

Face’s heart was pounding even harder now. Hannibal was in his army greens, his beret in his hand, looking just about as handsomely imposing as Face had ever seen him. Face loved him in his greens, the way the jacket fitted over his shoulders, the material of his trousers hugged his butt, the tiny bit of shirt cuffs framing those strong wrists – it just hit him like a punch in the gut every time.

 

In the dim light of the room, Hannibal’s eyes drilled into his, his whole expression brimming with care and concern and love, all wrapped up in a fierce, burning lust. It was a crime to stay still any longer, and Face moved, registering Hannibal dropping his beret as he moved to meet him and in the centre of the room they collided, their chests fusing together like two attracting magnets.

 

Face reacted through touch alone, his lips finding Hannibal's through years of practice, his cock filling with hot blood at the feel of all that coarse wool against his naked skin. He opened his mouth, inviting Hannibal inside and he was instantly plundered over and over again, Hannibal's tongue chasing away all the fear and uncertaintly that had dogged them these last few weeks. Face held him close, rubbing himself up against Hannibal's uniform, feeling the ribbons and medals as they teased his sensitive nipples and moaning deep in his throat as Hannibal slid two warm hands down the back of his shorts, peeling the material away and cupping naked flesh firmly.

 

The action freed Face's cock and now he could feel it rubbing deliciously against the woollen coat. He tried to pull back, wanting so much to see what that looked like, but Hannibal held him firm with his kiss, kept them fused together as their mouths became roughly reacquainted.

 

For long minutes they stayed standing in the centre of the room, Face’s shorts slowly losing their battle against gravity as Hannibal’s hands roamed over his ass and thighs, his cock becoming so eager he knew he must be leaving silvery trails of pre-cum on Hannibal's greens. Then Hannibal started walking them back, slowly and surely, his mouth never leaving Face's, forcing Face to step out of his shorts after a single step lest they trip him up.

 

They went further and further back until at last the backs of Face’s knees hit the edge of the sofa and he went down, the force of his drop pulling them apart and leaving Face sitting naked in the cushions, his cock standing up red and proud, while Hannibal stood fully dressed staring down at him. For a moment they just looked, each only capable of staring at the other, then slowly Hannibal moved, his hands reaching up, taking hold of that first brass button, fingers shaking slightly as they started to pop it through the button hole.

 

“Don’t...” Face’s voice was an embarrassing rasp and Hannibal froze, uncertainty washing over his face. “Leave it-” this time Face had to clear his throat, “Leave it on.”

 

If at all possible, Hannibal’s already lust filled eyes darkened further and his fingers instantly left the top button alone, drifting downwards until they reached the bottom one instead, eyes fixed firmly on Face as that final brass fastener was eased through its hole. Face shuddered slightly in anticipation as Hannibal parted the bottom of his coat, then unsnapped the waist fastening of his trousers before stepping forward and tilting his hips in unmistakable invitation.

 

Face edged forward, licking his suddenly dry lips as he felt a slow trickle of warm pre-cum slide slowly down his length. he ignored it for now though, mind set on a much better prize and he dropped his eyes from Hannibal’s looking instead at the huge bulge in the front of those wonderful Army greens and, his own hands shaking ridiculously, he reached out and slowly slid the zipper right down to the base.

 

Hannibal was wearing black briefs that hugged his erection beautifully. Face kept his fingers back out of the way and instead caressed that hot length with his eyes, trailing up the thick swelling right to the end where a damp patch was growing right before his eyes. Above him, Hannibal shifted slightly and let out a huff of impatience and Face moved, fingers light and gentle as they manipulated the warm cotton briefs until Hannibal’s cock could spring free into the dim light of the suite.

 

Face stared, watching in rapt attention as it twitched in front of him and then he leaned forward, eyes flicking upwards to meet Hannibal’s as his tongue snaked out and, ever so gently, flicked over the smooth, hot head. Hannibal shuddered and his hips thrust forward in an unconscious reflection of his desire. Totally unbidden, his hands went into Face’s hair and he gently edged him down, leaving no room at all for any confusion over what he wanted Face to do.

 

There was no hesitation on Face’s part. He closed his eyes and opened his mouth, slowly, slowly sliding forward until he felt the velvet head of Hannibal’s cock slide straight over the back of his tongue, ruthlessly shutting off his gag reflex until it was right down, held snug in the sheath of his throat. Hannibal moaned long and low and couldn’t help pushing forward a little bit more. Face let him, he’d long ago become expert in this and knew how much Hannibal loved it. Right on cue, Hannibal’s fingers trailed shakily down his throat, finding where the rounded head of his cock pushed against the skin and massaged it gently, moaning again when Face swallowed against him.

 

“Fuck, kid,” he breathed, tipping his hips again and again. “How do you _do_ that?”

 

_Desire_ , Face thought to himself as he pressed his nose into the wiry hairs above Hannibal’s pubic bone. Making Hannibal feel like _this_ was worth anything in the world.

 

He couldn’t do it for long though, his eyes were watering and he could feel his throat wanting to close so he slowly drew back, letting the slide out be as delicious as the slide in and when he was far enough back to look up, he did so, keeping the flared head of Hannibal’s cock in his mouth, swirling his tongue around and around the corona as his wet eyes stared up from under spiky lashes, the complete image of the sublime submissive he could be when he wanted to.

 

The hands in his hair tightened. “Want you,” Hannibal murmured, his hips still tipping back and forth, “so much.” He bent down then, the change in angle pulling his cock from Face’s mouth and claimed it with his lips instead, kissing hard and deep, trying to chase where his cock had just been, loving every tiny trace of himself he could find there.

 

Face leaned back, letting himself be crushed between Hannibal’s hot, hard body, still in its layers of wool and cotton, and the sofa cushions as he opened himself up, his mouth, his legs, his whole soul and let Hannibal flow into him. He found that it was incredibly erotic to be pinned to the sofa like that, totally naked, every sensitised scrap of flesh tortured and teased by the rough wool, the cold teeth of an open zipper, buttons and ribbons and medals. He arched forward, needing the friction on his untouched cock and Hannibal lifted up, leaving his kiss-reddened mouth and pulling back, watching as Face, eyes closed, mouth slightly parted, curled his back like a cat, pushing his swollen cock upwards where it brushed wonderfully against Hannibal’s own.

 

And that was the last thing that Hannibal could take.

 

He fell on Face again, his mouth everywhere at once, kissing, biting, licking, nuzzling, while his desperate fingers grabbed for the bottle of rosemary oil that Murdock had been drizzling over his Caesar salad. It was the work of a moment to liberally douse his fingers and then slick up his cock, grabbing Face’s knees with slippery hands and pulling them up and open, desperate fingers finding his hole and roughly pushing into him, swallowing his moans as he was penetrated by two, then three probing digits. Then, still devouring Face with his mouth, Hannibal let the oil fall fuck-knew-where and with a moan that went right down Face’s throat, he pushed his cock straight through the firm ring of muscle and far up inside his boy.        

 

Face cried out at the sudden and almost violent breeching, but he had nowhere to go, even his sounds were instantly swallowed by Hannibal’s desperate mouth. He was uncomfortable, almost folded in half, trapped and crushed and the burn in his ass was only getting worse. But then there was a hand on his oh-so-hard cock, and he cried out again, this time at the heat that Hannibal’s rapid stroking was searing through him. He thrust upwards into more of that grip and Hannibal slammed even deeper inside him, hitting his prostate full on and making him howl in pleasure and pain and pure shock.

 

There was no let up, however. Hannibal was folded on top of him, pinning him down, thrusting desperately, his full balls slapping into Face’s and somehow making the whole thing even more erotic than it already was. Face simply hung on, eyes closed, Hannibal’s tongue reaching for his throat, his cock reaching for his heart, Face’s fingers bruising where they clung to hard muscle and Hannibal, incredibly, went even faster.

 

Face had never felt anything like it, everywhere hurt and everywhere was blazing in the most intense pleasure. The hand frantically pumping his cock had lost any semblance of rhythm and over and over Face’s promised orgasm slipped away from him with a missed stroke. He didn’t mind though, the constant rise to almost heaven only to miss out and have to start again was enough to have his heart threatening to pound out of his chest.

 

Then, unbelievably, Hannibal shoved himself even deeper inside, once, twice a third time before Face felt him coming, shaking and convulsing, his mouth latching desperately onto Face’s neck as he poured his release inside his boy, Face’s own desperate cock forgotten as his whole body shuddered apart in ecstasy.

 

And then he was still.

 

Face felt every one of those two hundred and twenty pounds slump down on top of him and he couldn’t stop the moan that was pulled out of him at the sudden unbearable pressure in his ass. Instantly, Hannibal was moving though, clumsily scrambling to his feet, pulling his cock out of Face’s body, unfolding those legs and as much as it was good that he could breathe once more, Face felt cold and empty and his leaking cock bobbed forlornly against his stomach.

 

He never got a chance to complain, however. In a second, Hannibal was on his knees, two fingers pushing straight back inside Face, finding his tender prostate with ease and then his desperate cock was swallowed by a hot mouth, maybe not deep throated as Hannibal had never got the hang of that, but taken in as deep as Face had ever been, a broad tongue lapping at his length, the suction of hollowed cheeks enough to have Face crying out and arching his back once more.

 

Hannibal took full advantage of Face’s change in posture. Those questing fingers rubbed round and around the sensitised nub of nerves and within seconds Face was coming, shooting his load into Hannibal’s mouth, every muscle in his body rigid as he cried out, over and over as his release ripped through him.

 

He was only vaguely aware of now tender fingers sliding out of him, gently stroking his closing hole, soothing the red skin with oil and come. There were soft words in his ear and strong hands on his limp limbs, gathering him close, filling his nose with the comforting scent of whisky and cigars. Then he was laid on the bed, the duvet pulled over him and he managed to force his eyes open in time to see Hannibal strip out of his now-dishevelled uniform, dropping it all on the floor in a most un-Hannibal-like way. And then he was naked and climbing into bed next to Face, instantly gathering him close, their bodies crushed together in every possible place.

 

Face revelled in it, in the sweat and the smell of semen and the vicious throbbing in his ass and hauled Hannibal even closer, pressing their groins together, looping his leg over the back of Hannibal’s knee, trailing his fingers into the damp crease of an ass. This is what he wanted, this is what he needed. Just Hannibal, as close as he possibly could be, as naked as he possibly could be. This was everything he needed.

 

“Do you miss it, kid?”

 

His heart stuttered in the dark of the room.

 

But if that was the case and this was _everything_ , then why the fuck couldn’t he answer that simple-enough question?

 

The silence and the darkness sat hand in hand and eventually Hannibal sighed.

 

“I love you, Face,” he whispered, pressing a kiss onto Face’s temple.

 

Face clung on and loved him back and tried to keep his thoughts away from that single silver ball in the skies high above him.          

 

____________________________

 

Face was sipping coffee on the terrace of a cafe on Palm Canyon Drive, soaking up the morning sun and trying to enjoy the last few days of his leave. It wasn’t easy though, even now while he appeared to be reading the paper and waiting for Hannibal, he was, in fact just staring blankly at the sports pages, his mind, literally, a million miles away.

 

The last ten days had been tough. He wasn’t sleeping, he wasn’t eating, he kept on tuning out of conversations that Hannibal was trying to engage him in... he flushed at the thought – in short he was ruining the only vacation they had managed to arrange in the last three years.     

 

He couldn’t help it though, his mind was a maelstrom of confusing thoughts and no matter how hard he tried to organise them, they consistently refused to cooperate. It didn’t help that they wouldn’t settle either, that every morning found him red eyed and tired but trying to sort through yet another confusing shift in opinion. He thought back to that first night he and Hannibal were together, in the ridiculous luxury that the CIA had forked out for in the hope that their part in Face’s nightmare would be forgotten about. The question that Hannibal had asked him when they were finally wrapped up so close together in bed – and the answer he’d been unable to provide.

 

Hannibal had known though, just as Face had known, but incredibly, he hadn’t seemed to care. He’d just pulled Face even closer, kissed his head and stroked his back until they had both fallen asleep.

 

But then, the next morning, Face wasn’t so sure. He was glad the orb had gone, so glad, but he still couldn’t keep his thoughts off it, still couldn’t help trying to reach out with his mind to see if he could find it. There was nothing there though, and instead of the relief he felt he should experience, he only found emptiness.

 

And then there were the deaths.

 

The first night it really hit him had been the night they’d arrived here. He’d thrown up in the en-suite, trying to laugh it off and blame the fact that he’d eaten chocolate mousse at dinner, but afterwards, when Hannibal had taken him back to bed and slipped into his own sleep, Face had lain awake for hours, ramrod stiff, unseeing eyes on the ceiling, just picturing, as if for the first time, all those bodies.

 

He’d never been a fan of the killing, had always needed to take each death and parcel it away, very carefully, in his head before he could move on - but this... He saw it all in his head like it was a movie, scene by scene, and he was having trouble matching the man who stalked through the dead bodies with hardly a glance at the carnage he’d caused, with the man he’d thought he was. Purcell’s death was the only one he’d rationalised so far, maybe Gung Hu Zhang as well, but the others... the main problem being, there were far too many to even remember.

 

He remembered the first few though, could picture their faces off the news feeds.

 

The guy in the restroom.

 

The kids in the VW.

 

The walkers in the cave.

 

The sports stats in front of him blurred as his eyes filled with tears. All those lives ruined, all that sorrow he’d brought into innocent people’s lives, just by simply being there. And the worst thing was the way it had never bothered him until now.

 

He felt his cheeks flush in shame in the bright, warm sunshine and rubbed his tired eyes. What the hell was he going to do? He was crippled by guilt, struggling to even remember half of what he did – but he was still longing for the thing that had turned him into that empty stranger in the first place. He had no idea who he was anymore, but how could he go back to doing what he was supposed to do if he couldn’t trust himself to look out for his family?

 

He wondered how much Hannibal suspected about all of this; they’d never really talked about it. Hannibal had tried to get him to open up, but he couldn’t, he had no idea how he felt so how was he supposed to translate any of that into words? He was fucked, stuck between the man he wanted to be and the man he’d become and he saw no way out.

 

A shadow moved across the sun and he glanced up, expecting Hannibal, but blinked in surprise at the face smiling back at him.

 

“Nice to see you again, Lieutenant. This seat taken?”

 

Face shook his head, and Muldrake smiled and sat down, wincing slightly as he adjusted the sling supporting his arm and Face noted that it was the same grey colour as the ever present suit, wondered if the FBI had matching slings in every shade of grey...

 

“How’s your arm?” he asked, another hot flush of guilt running through him.

 

Muldrake shrugged his good shoulder. “I’m alright. Should heal up okay, just makes driving a bit of a bitch. And shooting of course.”

 

Face nodded he could relate to that.

 

“Hannibal’s on his way over,” he supplied. “He’s just gone to-” and then he realised. “Oh.”

 

“Yeah...” Muldrake was awkwardly pouring himself some coffee. “He thought it was best you didn’t know I was coming. Said you haven’t been in the mood for talking much.”

 

“No,” Face helped with the milk and sugar, “so if you’re here to counsel me, I’m sorry but you’ve had a bit of a wasted trip.”

 

Muldrake laughed. “Do I look like a counsellor? Or sound like one?” he shook his head. “I thought you were a better judge of character than that...”

 

Face rubbed at his sore eyes. “So, why are you here then?”

 

 “To tell you a bit about that sphere.”

 

It was like a punch to the gut, hearing it mentioned by someone else. He and Hannibal had never discussed it, not once, not since that awkward question back in Denver. Face felt that Hannibal was just hoping it would go away, that if he mentioned it at all it would just make it more real. Face looked over. “I’d rather not talk about it,” he lied.

 

“That’s fine,” Muldrake pulled a face at the strength of the coffee. “I’ll talk, you listen.”

 

Face, however, just shook his head, getting to his feet and pulling some money out of his pocket to pay for the coffee. “Look, Muldrake, no offence here, I know you’ve had a long trip and your shoulder-”

 

“Do you even know what that orb was?”

 

Face stopped, his eyes drifted back to Muldrake’s, interest flickering in them despite himself. “Of course,” he snapped, “It was a weapon.”

 

Muldrake shook his head. “Not even close.”

 

The silence drew out. Face stood looking down at the FBI man while he fussed over his coffee. Eventually, and with a heart-felt sigh, he sat down again.

 

The silence stretched on, Muldrake added more and more sugar until he was happy with the taste and then looked up, meeting Face’s glare and saying. “It’s a companion.”

 

Face frowned. “A what?”

 

“A companion.”

 

“You going to explain that?”

 

“You staying?”

 

Muldrake’s smirk was annoying but Face countered it with one of his own, a flat, empty mockery of a smile. “I’m here aren’t I?”

 

A sip of coffee, a long, considering look and then Muldrake leant in, all business now. “A bit of background first. On the planet the orb comes from the males live solitary lives, they never mix with each other, they only ever meet the females from time to time to procreate. So, as they make the transition into adulthood, they’re given an orb, one for every male, and that remains their constant companion throughout life.”

 

Face thought about that. “It must be a very violent world. I’m surprised that they’ve not wiped each other out.”

 

Muldrake shook his head, smiling. “But that’s just it, it’s a very peaceful world, no one uses the orbs for violence, what’s the point when everyone is equally powerful?”

 

“So what _do_ they use them for, then?”

 

“The orbs are artificially intelligent. They get to know their holder and they become whatever that holder wants them to be.”

 

Face frowned at that. “Are you saying that I _wanted_ it to become a killer?”

 

“No... You have to understand though, think what that orb had been through, separated from its host, flown across the universe and then squabbled over by an entire race of beings who could only see it as a killing machine. Is there any wonder it was confused?”

 

Face let out a hollow laugh. “Are you saying it had PTSD?”

 

“Yes,” Muldrake’s face was deadly serious. “I suppose I am.”

 

Silence fell and Face played with his cup. “I’m not sure how that’s supposed to help...” he admitted quietly and Muldrake sighed.

 

“It’s supposed to help by pointing out that there was nothing you could have done differently, that it would have gone through the country killing indiscriminately no matter who was carrying it.”

 

Face’s frown deepened. “I’m not stupid, Muldrake. I know it was feeding off my thoughts and emotions.”

 

“It was trying to please you.” Muldrake leaned closer. “Men had been using it as a weapon for years, it was all it knew of our race. And you were an alien to it don’t forget, it didn’t understand you any more than you understood it. It just found you easier to hear than any of the others.”

 

Staring into his coffee Face thought about that. “It wanted to kill Hannibal...” he said softly.

 

“Because it was confused,” Muldrake supplied. “It wasn’t used to feeling the emotions you had for him. Like I said, on its home planet men are solitary.” Face was silent and Muldrake sighed. “Come on Face, if nothing else can convince you that you weren’t really controlling that thing, doesn’t that? Did _you_ want to kill Hannibal?”

 

“No!”

 

“Well, there you go then.”

 

Silence fell and Face continued to stare into his coffee. “It was becoming a part of me...” he finally muttered, his most shameful secret now out in the open.

 

“It was trying too, yes. That’s what it was designed to do.” Face looked up at him. “But you were too human for it, it would never have worked.”

 

“I miss it. But then I don’t...”

 

Muldrake sighed. “Jack says it will fade with time. You just have to stop beating yourself up over this.”

 

The waitress reappeared and replaced their coffee and Muldrake shifted slightly as Face continued to sit in silence.

 

“Can you contact him?” Face asked finally. “Ask him to bring it back?”

 

The silence was heavy and so, when it came, was Muldrake’s voice. “Do you want me to?”

 

“No.”

 

He sighed. “Look – Face – you need to understand, you’ve been a victim in all of this as well – you and that orb. It’s not your fault.”

 

“I killed people.”

 

“That was the orb.”

 

The silence was back, but Muldrake was willing to wait, and Face continued to fight through the jumble of his emotions. “What will happen to it now?” he asked quietly.

 

“Jack will sell it. Back to someone it was designed to live alongside, someone who, for whatever reason, has lost his own orb.”

 

“And it’ll be happy?”

 

Muldrake frowned. “How can it be happy, Face? It has no emotions.”

 

“You’d be surprised.”

 

Sitting back in his seat, Muldrake let out a long breath. “Well, I guess if anyone knew about that then it would be you,” he admitted. “And if that _is_ the case, then yes, I guess it will be happy, back on its own planet, doing the job it was made for.”

 

Face stood up. “I’ve gotta go...” he whispered and Muldrake leaned in.

 

“I thought you were meeting Hannibal here?”

 

“I was, I am...” he took a step away from the table and knocked into a chair, sending it careering over backwards. “I’ve just...” he shook his head and was gone, streaking from the veranda before Muldrake had even managed to struggle to his feet.

 

“Shit...” watching him go, Muldrake picked up his mobile and pressed the button for his for his call log, knowing that Hannibal would not be at all pleased with this current twist of circumstance.

 

______________________________

 

It was dark when Face finally came back to the hotel to find Hannibal sitting on the balcony with a book and a bottle of beer. He was the picture of relaxed vacationer to anyone who didn’t know him, but Face could see the tension in every line of his body. He slid in, pressing a kiss onto Hannibal’s head and squeezing tightly when strong fingers wrapped around his own, “I’m sorry.”

 

Hannibal set his book down and shifted forward as Face sat in the seat opposite him, their knees bumping under the glass table. “It’s okay,” there was strain in that voice, “I figured you had things to think about.” Face didn’t answer, just stared at the table. “And now?” Hannibal swallowed. “How do you feel? Is anything any clearer?”

 

Face’s heart twisted uncomfortably at hearing Hannibal so much out of his depth. They’d never been like this, never had this awkwardness they had to slog through before they understood one another. Face hated to think of Hannibal helpless, but that’s what he’d made him, by fixating on that damn orb all the time instead of making himself move on. He looked up, forcing himself to hold Hannibal’s worried eyes with his own.

 

“Honestly?” he asked, the corner of his mouth quirking. “No. Nothing’s any clearer, not really.” Hannibal’s face dropped and Face tightened his grip on the fingers that held him. “But that’s okay, in a weird kind of roundabout way ‘cause, well, Muldrake said it’s not supposed to be clear.”

 

Hannibal just blinked. “You’re gonna have to help me out here, kid, because I…” he shook his head, “I’m more than a little lost myself.”

 

“Did Muldrake tell you what it was?”

 

“The orb? Yes, he did.”

 

“Well, that’s it then. He said it was trying to… kind of meld itself to me, make us one as that’s what it would have done back on its own planet. He said it doesn’t have emotions, but it did, it does, I felt them, I felt all that confusion and despair and the way it was all black and white – if people got in our way, we’d kill them, easy as that,” Face fortunately missed Hannibal’s wince. “I thought it was me that felt like that, not the orb… but still I tried to help it, tried to make things better for it without ever knowing it was hurting…” Hannibal squeezed his fingers but stayed silent, he seemed to be on the very edge of his seat though, hanging on tightly, afraid at any moment he would fall off with something Face told him.

 

“I didn’t want it,” Face continued, almost dreamily now, “I _don_ ’t want it. But… hearing that it could be happy, complete, without me, that really hurt, know you?” A bitter laugh burst out of him. “How fucking twisted is that? Maybe I should ask Murdock for the name of a good therapist…”

 

“No,” at last Hannibal spoke and he did as he leaned in, threading the fingers of his free hand through Face’s hair. “I don’t think so, I think it all makes perfect sense.”

 

Face looked up, “You do?”

 

“I do,” he smiled a gentle smile at Face’s red rimmed eyes, “the two of you were two halves of two very different coins, but that didn’t stop the orb wanting you to be whole with it, you were obviously the only person it had ever come into contact with that it felt it could bond with,” he shrugged. “The orb had taste at least.”

 

Face’s eyes were wide as he thought about that. “But… I didn’t want it,” he whispered, “I wanted you.”

 

“And that’s why it wanted to kill me,” Hannibal explained gently. “Because when you thought I was dead, that was the closest the two of you came to being one… It was staking a claim, kid, that’s all, twisting your emotions to try and make you fit with it.”

 

Back to staring at the table Face mulled that over. “I guess that makes sense,” he offered eventually.

 

“It does,” Hannibal told him firmly. “And you never wanted it did you?”

 

That got Face’s eyes up off the table, “No!”

 

“Well, there you go now. That’s all there is to it.”

 

They sat for a long time in silence, hands still linked firmly together as Face puzzled that through.

 

“The question is though,” he eventually asked, “What do I do now?”

 

Hannibal’s face was impassive. “What do you want to do?”

 

“My job. Be with you. Murdock and BA. Just go back to how things were before…”

 

A warm smile greeted his words, as warm as the fingers that still held him. “Well, let’s do just that then. Enjoy our last few days here and then go back to what we do the best.”

 

Face’s eyes were wet as they held Hannibal’s over the table. “You’d have me back?” he whispered, “After everything I’ve done? You’d trust me?”

 

Hannibal leaned in. “Of course,” he whispered. “You haven’t changed, baby, you’re still you. Still beautiful right down to your core. Hell, even alien technology wanted you.” Face couldn’t laugh at that, not yet, he just thought through Hannibal’s words.

 

“I hope you’re right,” he eventually offered.

 

“Oh, I most certainly am.”

 

Hannibal dropped Face’s hand and opened his arms instead, sitting back and inviting Face to come to him. He did;  almost crawling into his lap, arranging himself over Hannibal’s thighs until they were pressed together, arms around each other, eyes on the desert night.

 

They sat in a comfortable silence, Hannibal relishing every breath and heartbeat he could feel from the man in his arms. He felt the moment when Face started to sag, his weight becoming heavier against his body. “Tired, baby?” he asked softly.

 

A sleepy, “Hmmm,” was all he got for his answer.

 

“Don’t fall asleep out here then,” Hannibal edged his weight forward a bit. “Let’s get into bed where we can be more comfortable.”

 

He tried to shift Face, but the other man wasn’t cooperating.

 

“Come on, sweetheart,” he eventually insisted. “You’ve hardly slept at all this last week, you need better rest than sleeping out here in the cold.”

 

Face still didn’t answer, but Hannibal had shuffled far enough forward to heave to his feet, carrying the man in his arms over to the bed.

 

It didn’t take long before they were wrapped up together, Face’s head on Hannibal’s shoulder, Hannibal’s arms wrapped tightly around him.

 

“I love you,” Face whispered and Hannibal felt himself light up inside at hearing those words spoken for the first time in what felt like three lifetimes.

 

“Oh, I love you too,” Hannibal breathed into his hair. “So much. So much baby…”

 

________________________

 

One hundred light years away, a shadowy figure in a long, khaki over coat smiled as he counted out the piles of Kbits into his money bag. He’d told Hannibal he’d make a fortune with that orb and he hadn’t been wrong, not by a long stroke. He looked up at the creature who’d so happily parted with all that money and smiled as he watched it slide the orb into the specially evolved pouch right over where its middle heart was beating. There was a moment of silence and then it shuddered, something some people might have described as a smile blooming on its face as a sound not unlike a kitten purring erupted from its pouch.

 

The man who called himself Jack was forgotten then, just like every other creature on this smelly, swamp covered planet. It turned and waddled away, and Jack was instantly on the move as well, back to his ship before it sank into the putrid soil. There was a martini in there with his name on it and, his face broke into a wide grin, a rather hot video that would definitely benefit from another close examination. He hoped the earth technology wouldn’t wear out, would last just that little bit longer - just tide him over until he managed arranged himself a slice of the real thing.

 

And boy, was he looking forward to that.        

  

End

 

  _“Tell the devil that he can go back from where he came,_

_His fiery arrows drew their beat in vain._

_And when the hardest part is over, we'll be here,_

_And our dreams will break the boundaries of our fear,_

_The boundaries of our fear._

_Lay your body down, lay your body down, lay your body down_

_Next to mine...”_


End file.
